Ben Bonkoske

There are a bunch of bugs biting at my neck and crawling up my leg hairs. I should let them be. They deserve it for how much insect blood is on my hands. They are in a spider psychopath’s domain, little do they know it. I’m scared senseless of all the things I reminisce about. It’s worse than having a Kinks song stuck in your head for four days straight or not running for a whole week. It’s been pretty bleak. I also pronounce things incorrectly regardless of their meaning. Like Acquiesce, which I thought was pronounced aquise and I said it that way after I was thrown a mock graduation in front of everybody who was celebrating. See what I mean? I don’t have to go far to be red in the cheeks. I am a walking disaster with inner peace. Life perpetually gets more and more complicated even in a period of doing absolutely nothing. Or so it seems to me. We all want to go back, but being in the midst of certain things at “the time being” is a hassle that allows us to never achieve anything. I have lived a full life and can get away with saying I’m 240 pounds so people think I’m underweight (more like 180). I don’t know if I’ll ever find meaning, but all sympathy is appreciated. I am shaving and saving a few dollars here and there so I can afford Christmas gifts after this endless summer. Avoiding the right things and people so we don’t look foolish is hard to do. I’m good at it because I am basically on a deserted island where all I’m allowed to do is read and send out my resume. I’m happy but not where I want to be. How many others are there like me? I just want to be a writer. Freelance is so romantic but I can’t ever try long enough at doing something hard where I might be successful without being discarded as irrational. If you think I have any skill at all, let me know. I’d be happy to share more than a poem.