When I think of a Cigarette…

 

When I Think of a Cigarette

When I think of a cigarette,
I think of the four thousand chemicals
that would rush into my mouth and
burn their way into my once healthy lungs.
I think about that nasty taste, that nasty
ring of polluted air I would create in the
space around my body. I think of the
looks of disgust given by those close by.
I think of those who politely stepped
away from me, and those who not so
politely stepped away.

When I think of a cigarette,
I think of the forty seven years
I spent enslaved to its beck and call.
I think of the lies I told myself to ensure
it’s hold on me. How I convinced myself
that it’s treacherous act was fulfilling some
need, some longing that mysteriously
never went away. I think of the twenty
times each day I held the delusion
that it was making me feel better,
and thought I was sane in the process.

When I think of a cigarette,
I think of the lengths I would go to
to get one – Late night solitary walks
to liquor stores in dangerous neighborhoods,
taking money from the children’s piggy banks,
writing checks on an account with no funds.
I think of how I convinced myself I was normal
and not a “real” junkie. How I lied to myself
constantly. I shudder at the thought. But things
are better now. I am free. I looked the demon
in his face, and saw him for the liar that he is.

When I think of a cigarette,
I no longer lust its poisonous pinion,
my senses have returned (and improved).
I smile at the recognition that I am a winner.
My sanity has returned. I am strong. I
have garnered the lessons this addiction offered.
I have unveiled the truth – I am neither
victim nor fool. In the wake of a once
destructive force, I stand victorious –
captain at the helm – punch my fists up in the air.
Rejoice in my new found freedom.

By Angela Moten

(written when she was 6 months smoke-free)

One day I will confess all the stupid things I did, when I was searching for a lighter and cigarettes or change to get some…pitiful,, just pitiful.