Today’s post is a hauntingly beautiful poem from my new friend, Cori-Lynn Noddin. She has a powerful presence and voice both in person and in her writing:
I am asked.
I am asked
More often then I like.
I have no infinite wisdom on addiction.
Frankly, if I did I would have “saved” the one I loved from the grips of its destruction. But, I am asked.
I am asked questions I no longer want to answer. I am asked for help as if there is a great and powerful Oz, hidden from wives and mothers and girlfriends and I must know some secret password. I am asked.
For a brief moment, I will forget. I will forget that I have never done drugs, and yet without hesitation I can tell you drugs have had the largest impact on my life above all other, beside my own son. I almost forget. Until, I am asked.
I have been asked where I found the courage? How this? When that? I, matter of factly, will answer what I consider to be foolish questions. I will hope that they ask the right ones. But, they will not.
I am also asked, from a seat of judgement. How and why? I am asked. And, I know these people are not asking to know. Or understand. Or care. But, I am asked.
Today is Thursday. And this morning, I was asked.
My answer will always be the same.
So, you no longer need to ask.