it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
my sister lies in a hospital bed after a suicide attempt.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
yesterday i was at the mall while my sister was rushed to the er.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
she swallowed a bottle of pills yesterday to try to make the hurt go away.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
her heart rate went down too low.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
she needed me when i wasn't there.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
my nightmares have become a reality.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
she's not dead, but she isn't alive.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
the demons lurk in her eyes and i want them gone as much as she does.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
she looked so pale with the charcoal staining her tongue black.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
i sit here with a blade and consider breaking my promise.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
i continue to repeat these lines.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
maybe it's a mantra, but it feels like my last words.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
i want her back home.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
the desperation in my soul begins to surface.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
come home soon squish.
it's january twenty-second, two-thousand eighteen.
otherwise i might join you in that hospital bed.

At EIGHTEEN we met
At a party that I still remember.
It was fall, the air changing
It was beginning to get dark
The sun was going down,
The air getting cold.

I remember when you bumped onto me
That warmth that rushed on my arm.
I remember the blue eyes,
That mischievous smile.
I remember your touch,
The "hello" coming from your lips.

I remember you across the room
Your blue eyes looking,
The wink,
The smile,
The laugh,
Could my teenage heart know?
That skip,
That beat,
What did it mean?

You walked towards me,
Your blue eyes never leaving me,
"Hello" you said again.

I remember you grabbed my hand,
You pulled me closer
Whispering into my ear,
And the chill running through me,
I knew it wasn't from the cold, fall, air.

We found a spot and we talked.
Hours went by,
We realized the sun came up.

At NINETEEN we went out,
That's when we got serious.
You were the one,
You were my first.
Time went by,
Our highs,
Our lows,
We were inseparable,
We said the I love yous'.

At Twenty we fought
Times got tough,
We had some rough times.
The talks we had,
For the now,
The what ifs,
The future.

Still at Twenty...
We loved,
Unconditionally,
We tried to make it work.

At Twenty-One
The parties,
Constant work,
Life,
College,
We couldn't take it all
We were too young.
We broke up.

At Twenty-Two
We were friends,
Still in love.
We knew it would be forever,
That would never change.

You moved away
I stayed.
We moved on,
We went our separate ways.

At Twenty-Three
You came back, but
You left again.

At Twenty-Four
We lost touch,
You had moved on,
And so had I.

Years went by,
We barely talked,
When we did, we knew,
The feelings were always there,
Never going away.

At Twenty-Seven
You bumped on to me,
That warmth down my arm,
Familiar.
Your blue eyes,
Your mischievous smile,
Your touch,
Your Hello.

It all came to me.
We hung out,
We found a spot and talked
Letting the night fall,
And the sun rise.

That skip,
That beat,
What did it mean?
Could my grownup heart know?
We said the I love yous.

At Twenty-Eight
We talked,
You wanted to meet and
Know my new family.

At Twenty-Eight
I got the news that you were gone.

At Twenty-Eight
It all came crashing down.

At Twenty-Eight
I remembered everything.

At Twenty-Eight
It was more powerful then,
Than the last ten years.

At Twenty-Eight
The goodbye I could never say,
The closure that never came.

At Twenty-Eight
You, my first love
Were gone.

At Twenty-Eight
I will forever remember you.

At Twenty-Eight
You will always have a piece of my heart.

Twenty-seven years
Of losing out in love
Twenty-seven years
Of never giving up
On anyone I love
Full of hate, But full of love
Full of courage, Full of heart
I’ve fallen down
But I got back up
Got lost, been stuck
Found a way back out
But fell right back in

Twenty-seven years
I’m still holding on
Twenty-seven years
All the best parts of me gone
I’m still staying strong
But for how long?
Every day could this be my last song
Twenty-seven years
and it all goes wrong
Twenty-seven minutes
Bad lucks born
So many decisions
but I’m still torn

Ever since childhood memories
I’ve had enemies
I’ve lost energy
trying to fight
With all of my might
I’m losing sight
through all these hard times
Through every single line
through every rhyme
Through everything I write
You get a glimpse
Into my troubled mind
So appreciate the time
That I’ve put in
To every word
From all the hurt
In my heart
From all my broken love

Twenty-seven years
It’s taken to come to terms
With all, I’ve had to learn
Twenty-seven years
I’ve learned to burn
All the rage, the hate
Wipe clean the slate
Twenty-seven years
I’m still around
Twenty-seven years
I’m standing my ground
Against the tides, the crowd
It gives me a reason to shout
My passion out loud
Standing tall and proud
Before I’m taken out
In the final round

Twenty-seven years
Twenty-seven years

©2017 Written By Benji James

when i see the youthful faces
i feel a bitter regret
curse how time crazily races
rue things for which i'm late.

my youth now seems wasn't there
or was just a fleeting span
fate dealt me a blow unfair
made me too fast old man.

if only the years did roll back
if time travel wasn't a fancy
if only was laid back the past track
i would've loved to be twenty.

why it's such i didn't care
let twenty fly too fast past me
why that year if was very much there
i didn't lock it to be forever twenty.

twenty at twenty seemed absurd an age
a fabulous but unreal mirage
it was the year i passed out college
twenty did i ever have that age.

twenty when came too fast it went
survives in the now twenty's face
for me no year an imagined moment
i curse how years quickly race.

Twenty minutes, lost.
I though I had been under my steadily flowing deity for hours. I thought I had had a spiritual experience lasting longer than Genesis.
But it was only twenty minutes.
Twenty minutes
Of standing naked under falling water, feeling soap suds and scratchy cleansers and sharp tangles
Cleaning my skin and my soul of my physical reminder of my connection to the river
To the world
Thinking only flesh and water, flesh and water.
It was the mantra in my head.
We are all just flesh and water.
I was ripping through the harsh curls of my hair thinking flesh and water
Flesh and water.
I caressed my goddess, my god, my spirit, nature’s spirit
When I caressed the showerhead.
I saw it clean me of the plankton of the natural water and replace it with synthetic chemicals
To keep me sanitary and acceptable.
Twenty minutes.
It felt like that was how long it took for the blade to run across my skin, my wet-and-dry-sand skin. Twenty minutes running up from the product of the hills to the home of my womanhood.
I noticed how the man-made razor matched a section of veins on my wrist.
Twenty minutes.
In twenty minutes that were actually twenty lifetimes I became Pocahontas, daughter of Earth and sister of water.
I felt my connection to what sustains me and it changed me.
How did twenty minutes seem so long
Under the florescent lights?

Twenty-nine belts bravery from a bottle.
It feels like all talk and no game.
Twenty-nine has thighs that don't lie
and a finger that motions you
to come closer.
It relearns each facet of love
and finds beauty in its own reflection.
Twenty-nine betters the invention
instead of reinventing it.
It imagines kissing strangers to feel alive and
gifts the pearl to the jewel thief
with no words- only smiles.
Twenty-nine strikes a match
in the middle of a pitch black nowhere,
only to see the smoke twist up and away.
It cracks and hisses when it feels its been forgotten.
It smells like pine needles, orange peel, and sun bleached cotton.
Twenty-nine forgets those who have forgotten it
but thanks them for the lessons.
It likes church but only for the music, architecture, and sociology.
Twenty-nine won't apologize for passion or pity,
but it will drip with empathy at inopportune times.
Twenty-nine steeps itself in scalding water
only to discover its true flavor.
It finds no comfort in the opinions of others
but will only rest at the signal of a nod of approval.
Twenty-nine looks down into the neverending
and can't decide if it wants to jump or run.
It handstitches a parachute
as it dangles one foot over the edge,
says a prayer to no god
but writes hymns that bring tears.
Twenty-nine keeps breathing.
It keeps breathing.

twenty seven
twenty seven days without the love of my life
twenty seven days of agonizing pain spent in terribly agony
twenty seven days free from someone whos love had expired long ago
twenty seven days trying to love myself
twenty seven days trying to fight to not call her
twenty seven days in turmoil
twenty seven days of taping my phone to the counter
twenty seven days of spontaneous beach trips
twenty seven days of misery
twenty seven days realizing just how far I had fallen for her mischievous smile and steady gaze
twenty seven of the best worst days of my life

Twenty
Four
Hours.

Over a year ago
My theatre teacher told me
And a group of my closest friends
To write down
Exactly what we would do if
We found out we only had
Twenty-four hours left
To live.

My original draft was very juvenile,
Full of dramatic kisses
And dying in my crush's arms.

It was beautiful
For a seventeen-year-old romantic.

I don't know if my teacher realized
That I would become slightly
Obsessed with
What I would do
If I had twenty-four hours to live.
But whether she realized or not,
Obsessed I became.

I wrote "24" or my hand each day
For weeks,
To remind me that I could be
Dead in twenty-four hours,
Or less.

I wrote at least fifty drafts
Of what I would do
If I found out at that moment
That I had twenty-four hours left.
I would write a new draft when I decided
That the previous draft was
Too out-dated.
I think the longest lasting draft
During my surge of
Twenty-four hour hypotheticals
Lasted one week.
One.

I was totally obsessed with daring greatly,
Doing the things I had longed to do
For weeks or months or years,
And suddenly I had the permission I needed
To do them:
Twenty-four hours to live.

My drafting came to an end when
My best friend
Handed me the best
Twenty-four hour outline
I had ever seen.

At the top read the disclosure:
And you get into heaven no matter what.

I couldn't surpass that list with any of my own ideas.
And my obsessment was already dimming.

A year and a half or more later,
I don't make drafts.
I'm not obsessed.
I'm not going to die.

But every once in a while
When I feel like I'm not living
Life
To it's fullest,
I write "24" on my hand for
A few days.
Just to remind myself,
That at any moment,
My twenty-four hours left to live
Could be up.