I have been broken and bruised
I have been beat down and abused
I have lived a life of misery
Where I felt I should have been removed

I got called at and bullied
I developed depression at age fourteen
Every day I wondered why I still tried
Every night I wish I died

I have never felt alive
Even though I was at the pinnacle of youth
It was supposed to be 'the time of my life'
Said to me by an old lady who saw it as truth

But last night I put things in perspective
I have cried but also felt happy
Whether I've felt alive or not is objective
However I will always see it as ******

But I'd rather live 80 more years
Where I barely make it through
Than live a life
That is without you

She grabbed my neck, one hand, and her fingers quickly connected,
“You should have some more self respect, you’re taking this further than I expected.”
I swear that I’m eating again,
but I won’t try to pretend,
that the food doesn’t make me hurt, the removal of my organs didn’t mend.
I ask her to forget it and to just talk about the weather,
the topic wants to drop; she won’t let it, she knows I’m not getting any better.
I was always too much of a lost cause to trust I’d ever be repaired,
for years she’s held the gauze and just silently waited and stared.

At 21 my mother died from a long battle with cancer,
I toughed through it to provide comfort I could never allow myself to receive.
So my own sickness was inspired by Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer”
it was never my goal but what my
brain wished to achieve.

I told them all to leave me,
I didn’t expect they would do so,
a few stragglers stayed who wished to prove they were strong.
It’s still shocking that they believed me
or were they waiting for a polite out to go
one that they could argue wasn’t wrong?

And I’d rather break a mirror
than to see the reflection everyone else shared,
it’s not that I would fear her,
but through seven years bad luck I’ve already fared.
I made a choice and a deal
to give my worthless life for just a few good days,
you can’t put a price on how you feel,
you can only hope and pray that that feeling atleast stays.

I became best known through all encounters in every social gathering
as the laid back confident joker, because they never saw me shattering.
I assure you that after I was always in my Honda drowning,
arguing with myself if it was better to be fake than the person always frowning.
I was dying for interaction beyond just meaningless conversation
and only ever met the odd soul to bring that alleviation.
I was so used to the shadows from the comfort of my basement
that I flinched when I saw sunlight and only after felt amazement.

I was a skeptic and untrusting as to why the sun would ever shine on me,
and the refreshing waves that brushed my feet carried potential for drowning.
And just when I got used to light and a natural source of heat
the darkest cloud in history attacked until it did retreat.
Then I thought that drowning in the sea wouldn’t be the worst,
if it didn’t carry me into a current, perhaps it could wash away my curse.
But even the tide will move away when you decide to take that step,
past the point of clenching a fist, every muscle I own did treppe.

Los Camp said the sea was a great place to think about the future,
but I know it’s a great place to think about the one you lack.

A ghost sits beside him
on the well-worn piano bench.
Black cherry staining holds strong
against years of wear.
His seat engraved -
a small divot carved
from countless hours of diligence.
All where he lay himself
at the mercy of the keys.

Most of the time,
porcelain and ebony fingers
clutched his heart, allowing every beat to
bleed life into the music.

For it’s not him that dictates what he plays,
but what the keys see inside him.
More often than not,
a minor chord reverberates
against the practice room.

From there it’s a dance.

Fingers
     gliding,
           traipsing
up and down the length,
piecing together a melody
that speaks volumes to him alone.

Every note holds a word,
a piece of himself.
An outlet for emotions
shoved inside a shaken bottle,
finally exploding against the refrain.

Mason’s weight creaks beneath the bench.
It’s old, could probably do with replacing,
but he will never own another bench.
Worn in the wood next to him,
a smaller divot keeps him company.

Mason’s fingers leave porcelain
to run over the groove.
A little over a foot wide,
though he remembers her being much smaller.

Memories tug at the corners of his lips as
he splays his palm against the seat.
It’s likely bigger from the squirming
she’d done whilst waiting for his attention.

God, he wishes he’d paid more attention.

But some songs would forever be played in minor keys.

Hey bro, I got your back
Through thick and thin
Won't let any harm come to him
No matter what weapons they bring
The hate can never break the bond we have
We got a connection nobody else has
Same blood flows through our veins
Same creative forces in our brains
Never give up
Strive to be your best
You have a talent you're willing to share
You've got a knack for showing you care
Even with this sibling rivalry
Nothing can change the knowledge I've gained
From watching you grow into who you are today
And we may pick fights,
It's just brotherhood gets a little rough sometimes
But I know you will achieve great things
And I can't wait to see you living your dreams
All this faith in you I have
You've inspired me to be better
I need to set examples for my younger Brother
Need to get out and try and reach these dreams
Show him if you work hard enough for it
You can make it anywhere you want
Dedication can take you beyond the stars
A little blood, sweat and tears, can take you so far
No matter where it is we are
You’ll be always shining from afar
No matter what happens I got your back
Just hope you always remember that.

©2018 Written By Benji James

I used to wonder.
About nothing, really.
My head was full of mud and wild strawberries,
Eaten young because children are impatient
And worries are small.

From the sunrise to the sunset,
We would play.
We would climb weak, young trees
And cling uncomfortably, because we
Were not as small
As we used to be.

We would swing and
Swing and
Swing and
Swing
Until we outgrew that, also.
Until the yellow plastic that once allowed us to fly
Couldn't hold lanky limbs
And tangled hair.

One by one,
The things that defined our childhood
Faded away, left behind in old houses
Or forgotten to a stream of consciousness
That made minutes to days
And weeks to seconds.

So many absent, mundane moments
I remember.
So many
I have forgotten.