Who's Your Dealer?

Art from www.poshmark.com (art by bri_tan)

My dope dealer was my doctor, Prescriptions Kept me running back, Until I just laid and couldn’t feel the attack.  With no way to escape, now I’m always under.

My dope dealer was my teacher. Messages stuck with me until I couldn’t think for myself. What I passed put me in a class I couldn’t drop, so I graduated to rehab, where the black boards were security guards. Dressed in chalk white. Resembling sheets that covered and were never peeked from under. Big smiles-some missing teeth- made me think of pills. Hard and bitter, which messed me up on the inside.

My dope dealer was my parent. What I learned and carried put me through situations I never imagined. I loved and judged. for the right and wrong reasons. My attitude and weight changed with the seasons. Cold, hot, gloomy, breezy, sunny, dark, and I always left my mark.

My dope dealer is myself. I AM, what I believe and tell... Sometimes it’s detrimental, disgusting, and hurtful. But I follow those up with loving, positive, sayings I feel in my spirit.

What I hear makes me wanna kick the habit. Running back and forth, stuck undecided. I never knew anyone who truly quit something bad before their life ended.

I was raised to NOT-BE -A-QUITTER.AND I want to be a winner. I know the only way for me to fail is stopping myself from healing.

What I’m dealing has to please me, more than family or women. And I feel I always need to please them, or I’m a bad product. My environment right now is a mess-needs cleaning-they say it’s close to godliness. That’s how potent my dope needs to be.