Listening to the focus realm.
Been like this since age twelve.
Whether hell or heaven is up or whatever,
I stay down.
Weathered the storm till I almost burst.
Wrote more poems down on pads.
Then broken dads with beer belly laughs.
Wrote with broken glass traveling through my air pathways.
Wrote On Sundays, Mondays, seen on Tuesdays.
Wrote a one act play and thought I was done.
I wouldn’t make it.
Thought I couldn’t take it,
that the life I was leading
was for the dead and gray.
Or at least, that’s where I was going.
Seemed that way.
But meds and calloused hands and books of pages turned, of people listening, and me learning that hurt is universal.
It’s the universal truth.
And death is something that some choose.
But not me.
Peace to all that have been lost in this epidemic
of miseducation and medication.
Peace to my nephew, who in an act of desperation
took his life, left us all devastated.
And peace to my sister Andrea, who has to deal with that pain
and everything that she’s been through.
I wish I could rewind time, talk truth to Mike,
one we never thought we’d lose.
And it’s almost been a year since we lost you.
And I wish I could just call you and you could tell me about school,
or your girl, or your job, or a meeting you went to.
I know dude. I know, and I’m sorry, I wish you made it through.
Wish I could have talked to you.
Said look at me man, I’m doing it.
I broke through.
I know you looked up to me.
I loved you dude. You were my nephew.
You are my nephew.
Gone too soon.
And now Aunt Judy too.
Did you hear the news?
Lost her too.
Peace to Cousin Tim and Eric and Uncle Paul.
Love my family.
I miss you all.
I love you here, those that I can still reach out to.
Dad. Mom. Jon. Amy, Andrea, Lisa,
Obi and my nephews, nieces, and friends.
Threes to the end.
Threes to the end.


Jason Wright is the editor and founder of Oddball Magazine. His column appears weekly. His new book is Train of Thought.