Sort of Recovered

I can tell you how to mend
relationships, find satisfaction —
even joy – in life, alone or together,
hale or unwell, in spite of others.
Find a meeting, get – and use – a sponsor,
work the Steps, recover. Yet,
I won't. So why? How could I deny
your happiness, your wholeness?
Because I know – or at least fear, believe —
you would hear only to go to a few meetings,
and you would, but to sit and listen,
share your wisdom along with disdain
for vulnerability expressed,
the weakness confessed.
You'd find repugnant the very idea,
the humiliation of showing up, of implying
by silent – or vocal – presence your flaws.
But having gone through the motions
you'd come to me, haughty in having followed
the guidance. Then you'd be repulsed
when I denied you'd changed, you'd complied
with the directive. You'd rage when I said
it's not recovery when you sort of submit.