I remember when my first spiritual teacher told me that love was the most important thing there was and it could transcend and heal all things. I thought he was crazy, it didn’t apply to the love I was familiar with. The love that I knew was learned from those perfect families on TV and

The screen is blank. A bottle of Pellegrino on the small bronze table ahead. My feet are propped on a blue and white patterned pouf ottoman. I was in the kitchen a few minutes ago before sitting down. Had every intention to write about control, a topic in my AA meeting this morning. But a

She was a girl in a car. Driving. A grey Camry. Maybe silver. Maybe it wasn’t a Camry at all. Those details aren’t really important. She had a grey car. And she picked me up just as my work shift ended, a few minutes passed six. She’s parked around the corner, a grey something car

I’d address you by name but you have so many so I’ll just call you booze. When I first met you, you made me feel loved, secure and at peace. You lent me your strength. Your charm rubbed off on me. I felt like a better man when I embraced you. You had me from

  “In short, the greatest gift of relationship proves to be that as the result of encountering each other, we are obliged to grow larger than we had planned.”……James Hollis I thought of a drink today. Thankfully that thought made me sick. I also toyed with the idea of a sparkly white line of speed,

I am on the verge of a Borderline Personality Disorder diagnosis. When I faced disappointment today, I recognised something about myself that came out in this poem. The stereotype Borderline Personality Disorder sufferer is reactive outwardly. I am not. I wanted to share this. I live in words unspoken, the shore you see, gives no indication

  See more of Marks work at markgoodson.com     Spiritual Awakening I had an estranged discovery re-surge in me; it brimmed out from a distant border, like some cosmic debris, not born in or made for this world. Suddenly, each step became a dance; songs were sung in single words. My thoughts, thrown askance,

Four years ago I swallowed my last pain pill. Christmas night. After days of trying to look past the glowing orange pharmaceutical bottle on the kitchen counter. At Chris’s parent’s home in Pennsylvania. My mind a mess. Months of heavy anti-psychotics, antidepressants, anti-anxiety medication. A pill to focus. One to calm. Another to balance. To block