Sunday, May 22, 2016

My Night at the Roxbury

My pen between my lips
as I decide how
I should say what
I'd want to say next,

or sometimes my teeth gently biting
the end of the eraser
until it seems to disappear.

My mind, once cluttered,
now quiet hears the soft hum
of traffic from a distance,
and when it's too late,
it hears the train horn
screaming down the street.

So suddenly I remember
how he once said he
was amazed by how we were able
to make ourselves heard.

Even if it meant,
we were tearing the foam
from the arms of the hospital chairs,
we were made to feel as if
it was a safe place to be vulnerable.

I sensed it was a place of healing,
a place to build the foundation
for a well balanced brain and well being.

Somehow I said more
with the clutter in my head
just trying to empty it out,
than I ever would when aware of my actions.

I wish I could obtain the same courage
as I had in an unsound state,
it's something important that I lost.