Bottle of Problems



A woman I once knew she love the alcohol bottle,

born with brains and beauty but not as a role model.

Very thin with weight and not up with her hygiene,

slick with her actions she started drinking at eighteen.

She used to sit outside under a shaded tree on a stool.

Getting off my bus, I used to see her coming from school.

Laying around her plenty empty liquor bottles could be found,

as well as other humans sleeping in boxes spread about on the ground.

Kids would laugh at her for her sluggish behavior,

but when she saw me she would wave for a favor.

I would take my allowance to buy her food and water.

She used to joke with me sometimes that I acted like her stepdaughter.

She could never eat my food and wanted a drink that was stronger.

I would try to stay and talk until I couldn’t take the complaining any longer.

She was a very sweet lady with a lot of street knowledge.

If only she applied herself, she could have ended up in college.

She had a bad problem with the demon called liquor.

She chased it around only making herself sicker.

Each day I could see her fading away,

but the only thing I could do was try to help and pray.

Until one day to my dismay,

I learned she had passed away.

No family to buried her and no one really cared,

she was beyond broken and could not be repaired.

I didn’t know that much about her and we didn’t exchange many stories,

but she lived in pain a short life up into the age of her forties.

I learned a bright lesson at a young age you see,

you can only help a person to a certain degree.

A person must seek help themselves in order for change to work.

If not, the problem will arise again and their demons will be there to lurk.alcoholism



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