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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

About addiction

Submitted: August 31, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 31, 2018



We are born into this world a choice not our own

We do not pick our parents and we do not pick our home

The softness of their voice or the raised pitch of their tone

All we can decide is where our life goes

A place of which only God knows

You were never my hero

Never my friend

Just a painted on face of someone who decided to pretend

You abandoned

The position in which you were to assume

Take credit but give it where it’s due

I was supposed to look up to you

I was supposed to find a man to treat me the way you do

But you were obsolete

You started off trying to be whole

Living life incomplete

Choosing your own death willingly

Searching for peace in a deathly substance

White freckles pierced into your veins

Common misuse untrained

My eyes bleed

My face imprinted with tear stains


Who exactly is to blame?

For the misfit

The man called dad who’s unfit

He’s too strung out to remember where it started

And I’m trying my best not to give a shit

Just one big accident, me a misfit

 Being born to an addict



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