Poem: Heal the Roots of Addiction

Not in the bottle, nor in the flame,
Not in the chase or the whispered name—
But deep below, where silence grew,
The root of pain waits, tangled through.

It did not start with what was used,
But something lost, or something bruised.
A wound unspoken, left to hide,
That sought a way to stay alive.

The drink, the pill, the needle’s sting,
Were never more than borrowed wings—
A fleeting lift, a borrowed breath,
A dance with numbness dressed as death.

But still beneath, the roots remain,
Twisting through the soil of pain.
No shame in how the seed was sown—
We all are hurt, we all have known.

To heal the roots, we start with grace,
A tender hand, a sacred space.
To name the ache, to meet the fear,
To say, You’re not alone, I’m here.

No war is won through will alone,
But through connection, truth is grown.
We speak, we cry, we fall, we rise—
And slowly clear the smoke from eyes.

Forgiveness like a gentle rain,
Falls on the roots, dissolves the chain.
Not to forget, but to renew—
To say, You’re more than what you do.

And in that soil, once dark and deep,
The seeds of hope begin to sleep.
Until one day, they rise, they break—
And bloom from every healed heartbreak.

The roots remain, but now they feed
On light, on truth, on deeper need.
And what once clung to pain and fire,
Now grows with strength, and climbs up higher.