Purposeful

I. I know one day,

I’ll give thanks to this harsh winter that has washed over me like acid,

asked me for sin as a compensation for not killing me,

left me to wander in between the blurred lines of traffic jams

and lent me a palm of cactus needles.

Because these storms seem to precede the bright days,

almost as if suffering is the formula for fantasy and fulfillment.

II.

I was life at conception,

a gentle herb ready to be rolled up and puffed out,

used only for enjoyment but never commitment,

an addiction for some,

a bad habit for most,

how long would it take to get me out your system?

And this is how I breathe, waiting to be detoxed from the intoxicated livers

of lives who have taken advantage of my liver,

got me intoxicated with the breath of false promises,

only to have exhalation be their one wish.

But even though I want to erupt like a volcano

and transform their bodies into ash,

I know that I am at fault too.

I ignored the warning screams of my body,

so this is just my rotten karma.

III. The words thoughtfully swim around my mouth,

awaiting the day I can open my lips to set them free.

I pray every night that one day I will find the courage,

that one day I’ll allow a treatment to fix the distorted

thought patterns my brain has created.