8th Step Struggles Poem by Chip Schaller

I was plucked from the nest, left at the door
Had no mothers warmth, felt her no more
She did what she had to, was left with no choice
I would never meet her, never hear her voice

Fostered and raised by soldiers of care
I was bruised and beaten for wasting air
Dismissed or abused, treated like rust
Drowned in the holy water, swept with the dust

They had discussions but never with me
Never what I thought or what I could see
Relegated to clown hood, just a dumb joke
I was wheeled out to perform, to prod, to poke

My fear and anger both burned from within
A back that was broken with oppression of sin
Guilt trips to nowhere on shoulders of blame
I was saddled with guilt, ridden by shame

I later found freedom, a way to get out
A sweet escape, an alternate route
A road to destruction, a sure path to hell
But a way to drown out the tolling bell

Stopped all the voices, let me be here
In the now and present, free from fear
Inherited genes, a loud within voice
Made the bad choices not even a choice

Where's my amends? That's never asked
Who's sorry to me? That ship has passed
Decades of suffering, but there's no amends
Years of abuse, but no one else bends

Will I hear 'I'm sorry' for all the harm done?
A mea culpa for an abandoned son?
These worn out steps are of no use to me
Zombies of recovery who can't even see

They don't even know me, these steppers of doom
who say "make amends" - For What and to Whom?

Copyright © 2017 by Chip Schaller
All rights reserved

Note - this is a poem I had written, expressing what I was feeling at the time that I wrote it. It should not be construed as denouncing 12 step groups or any community groups, all of which I fully support.