howlonghasitben

A poem about my traumas and schizophrenia—

Hi, I'm Ben, I'm a brick in the wall
When I walk down the road I feel a block tall
Have you heard of the bird who washed up on the shore?
If I told you again would it start to bore?
Too excited too young 
To see Daddy's work done
Brief reach for the sky
The ground rushes to meet
With a thundering sigh
After, not once, but, thrice, why?
The pain intended for the end of the night
Dolled to the center of life like:
Wrongs, Wrath, Retribution 
Can the squirolled nut rodents still run in the race?
Would you still talk to a Joker you'd praised as an Ace?
Alone, though, would be a blessing.
But listen—what’s missing is less than confessing.
The wall that I'm bricked in
is thinner than thin;
I lean, and it buckles,
I fall back within.
The bird on the shore?
I was never alone—
the tide was its cradle,
the sea was its home.
And pain? It’s a bell,
that insists you must hear;
it rings, and it rings,
till the silence is near.
The Joker, the Ace—
the whole deck rearranged;
what seemed like a prison
was merely a stage.
And the play never ends,
though it circles and bends;
every fall is a start,
every start is pretend.
So I breathe, and I listen,
I laugh at the wall;
for the self that is rising
is no self at all.
And it loops, and it loops,
as it always has done:
the dancer, the dance—
the two are just one.

FOSS & FOSH Advocate.
History in accounting.
Currently doing design work.

https://howlonghasitben.github.io/i2sw/