Hello. My name is Vixen Lea and I have been Razzle-Dazzle for 1000 days.

January 7, 2018 is the day that I made the decision to quit drinking.

It seems like such a small thing when you look at the words of it: I Decided to Quit Drinking. Like I just made a decision and then that was that and all was good in the world. But of course, it’s so much more nuanced than that.

I was SO AFRAID. It was like I was about to say Goodbye to my entire Being; like I was going to strip off all of my layers of self that I had spent the last 25 years…

It happened again.

I found myself standing at my kitchen counter, staring. At nothing in particular. The fog in my brain stirred just a bit, a familiar remembrance — I was going to DO something — write something?

I had words in there, I know I did. I should write them down while I can.

The house was still, quiet except for the low murmurs of my children playing together far off in another room, the basement perhaps. This never happens — them playing together without fighting. Well, maybe not NEVER, but rarely. Once a week, if the stars align.

…

It’s too cold!
yells the nagging wind.
You’ll freeze to death out here,
whispers the pessimistic snow.
You’ll never survive those nibbling deer,
chatters the bossy squirrel.

Crocus don’t care.

Her bold adolescent sprouts
push aside last year’s leaves
and she reaches up to
poke at the glimmering sun.
No one’s gonna tell her
what she can or can’t do.

Watch me,

she tells that know-it-all squirrel
and kicks away the tag-a-long flakes.
Flicking a green middle finger to the icy wind
she rises, fierce and fearless. …

It’s been far too long since I’ve cozied up on my front porch and watched the morning roll in.

Today it strides slow and heavy in a rain-soaked gray cloak, doing its best to whittle away the last muddy snow heaps from a winter who wore out its welcome.

An older man I used to know, a kind soul, a Sunday acquaintance, once said: “I somewhat like the winter. I like to look out my windows and see bare trees. It’s a nice change from seeing trees with leaves. …

Today after my morning meditation, I pulled this card from one of my oracle decks ( Wild Offering by Tosha Silver): Being Enough.

Dear February,

I don’t like you.

There. I said it.

I know you think you’re special…being the shortest month and all, with your cute little 29th day popping up every four years.

You decorate yourself in bubbly pink hearts, batting your false eyelashes and puckering your kissy lips. You think you are ALL THAT because you are the month of Luuuuvvv. How can anyone not love the Month of Love???

Ugh. You are such a people pleaser.

Your antics make me sick, just like those gross chalky conversation hearts that you try to pass off as real candy. Valentine’s Day…

Discontent
sometimes shouts
in my head so loud,
my skull
a perpetual cymbal
ringing out fear
like a child lost in a crowd;
And I cannot decipher
if it ever had a beginning;
If the child ever knew
where it belonged.

Waking eyelids scrape past
eyes dry like off-track
sliding glass;
An unheard sound
of dreams stirs nightly, the
unreachable itch
behind my brain
disturbs nightly; and yet
morning

drops its opaque overlay
upon my everyday;
Pending regrets lay
waiting to rise up
tomorrow; begin
again, always;
With dread
reverberating
like an echo;
Like an inverted
echo.

Listen to this…

When I first came to Medium in October 2020, I was looking for a way to get more “eyes” on my poetry. Like most amateur poets, I felt invisible. I was spilling words from my raw soul and yet they disappeared into the cruel world small and unverified.

It helps, somehow, to know that someone else read your words and knew you — even if just for a moment.

I found The POM through its Facebook group. Here was a publication willing to publish and celebrate work from a newbie like myself. Here was a group of poets, ranging from…