Paper Feels Pain
Throughout my life I have witnessed and experienced many horrible and traumatic things, but nothing as horrible or everlasting as the effects of loving and living with someone who is a prisoner to drugs. At age seven, I found out that my father had started using drugs. Financially we had become in debt because of his addiction. It became hard for my mother to pay our house and pay for me to go to high school. My father’s addiction began to really affect me emotionally. I developed anger problems, where I would have outbursts and began to break things in my house. My anger and frustration derived from wanting my father to stop and come home so we could be a family again. I would become so angry with my mother at times feeling as though it was her fault. I would blame everyone including myself because I felt inadequate as a young man trying to fill my father’s shoes at the age of twelve and thirteen.
The climactic point of this horrible stage in my life probably had been when my father had come home high and had been arguing with my mom. This argument had been different from the rest, and something had not felt right. She began to push him out the door with all her might, only to meet the side of my dad that only his addiction could bring out of him. He had pushed her back and made her fall. At the time I was of sixteen years of age and full of rage. Upset that my father put his hands on my mom I began to fight my dad, and only to have then knocked him out completely. Ashamed for what I did, I had not known yet that would be the last time I would see my dad for a while.
Sometime after the fight my dad went off to a narcotics program in Houston, Texas for almost a year to become clean of drugs. Closing that door in my life, God opened another in which was how to control my anger and forgive my father through writing poetry. I allowed paper to be my canvas in which the pen poured out my pain. I could express however I was feeling with in a poem. I lashed out with lyrical tyrants on paper instead of causing an orchestration of chaos to everything around me. Writing poetry had became as essential to me just as staying in church every Sunday to be with God had become. Now with all three in my life poetry, a drug free dad, and God my walk through the tunnel was no longer a dark walk. I could now see the light at the end of the tunnel. I believe writing poetry has become my escape, and it could be anyone’s if they pick up a pen.
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