The Therapist Poetry Podcast
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Ricky:
Hello, John, and thanks for joining me today on Healing Through Poetry. I just wanted to give you the opportunity to introduce yourself a little bit and share the backstory about this poem that you’re about to read for us.
John:
Yeah, thanks, Ricky. It’s great to meet you, and thanks for the invite. It was great to see the work you’re doing. This poem, I know a lot of the work you’re doing with poetry is about forgiveness, letting go of grief, and loss. So, I thought I’d share a bit about my own journey.
A few years ago, I wrote a book called Alcohol Stole My Mum, which is about growing up with an alcoholic mother. In 2003, I actually went into rehab and turned into an alcoholic like my mum. I had so much anger towards her, almost like she made me an alcoholic, which she didn’t. But when I was in rehab, I had to find a way to let go of this anger and resentment.
I wrote loads of poetry, especially in early recovery, as a way of letting go and processing everything. Unfortunately, I lost all those poems, but this one I kept. So, this poem is really a letter to my mum from when I was in rehab, about forgiveness.
Ricky:
Wow, I can see how this poem must hold some significance, especially since you’ve lost the others. I’m really looking forward to hearing it. Please, go ahead, John.
John:
Thanks, Ricky.
John (Reading Poem):
Mummy, Mummy, lying on the ground with a cut on your head.
I’ve just got home from school. Are you alive, or are you dead?
Beside you is the vodka bottle, and I can see it’s empty. Again.
My trauma has been set in stone, and I’m not even 10.
Wake up, mummy, wake up, please.
I know you are an alcoholic. You have the disease,
But I wanted to tell you about the maths exam I passed.
I wanted you to be sober. I wanted you to ask.
But these are just prophetic dreams because the booze always wins.
Maybe it’s my fault that I am paying for my sins.
Yes, it must be my fault. There’s no other way.
I always turned it in on myself. That’s how I got through the day.
When I think of my childhood, it’s only the everlasting fear.
I’m so detached from the feelings that I can’t shed a tear.
The world became a frightening place. I learned to shut down.
I became the school joker that they were Tears of a Clown.
All I wanted as your son was for you to tuck me in at night,
To give me a cuddle and tell me everything will be alright.
The pain and hurt I had, it was buried deep below,
The toxic shame I felt stretched from my head to my toe.
But as the years rolled on, the drink certainly took its toll.
As your illness progressed, it took your mind, body, and soul.
However, on reflection today, I have no doubt, deep down, you loved me.
It’s just that you were beaten by your demons. For that, I can see.
All the trust that we had was broken, all the damage that was done.
When all I wanted as that little boy was to be the special one.