Ben Bonkoske

If you think back at all the pain you’ve endured, would it kill you? All the falls, broken bones, heartbreaks, tears, year after year? I sure hope it would. Otherwise, you’d be a wooden robot. That is why life is a crock-pot meal. Best served after you’ve boiled out the fat. I took a never-ending boiling shower tonight where I just plopped on the floor and sulked. It felt so good until I had to get out. I’m back on the hot shower gravy train. I take two a day now. It is a little excessive but as I have learned about myself, it is either that or nothing. My gut is probably the worst part of my life right now…or at least that I’m willing to acknowledge. I look like the Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters. I’ve never seen that movie. I wish I was born in the eighties and at the same time, I wouldn’t have minded being born after 2000. I am grateful for my youth, but best to use it wisely. If I used it stupidly, I will have a lot more to look back upon with condescension than I would if I just sit idly. I don’t think I am capable of making life-long decisions. I think as long as you can look back and laugh at it all, you might just live. I’ve watched a couple good movies this year. If I was to guess how many I watched in total it would be roughly 20 movies and 3 television series. This, after I gave up Netflix for the year. I was not more productive, I don’t think I laughed any less or any more, but sincerely laughter will make you live a lot longer. Crying shortens time. I think the memories that pull tears make me experience my past as a long duration. A good cry can feel like a two-hour film if done right. I forget how seriously I take life. I want to do things because of the joy it brings me, not the prestige or wealth. I somehow have convinced myself I can make a difference. It may be perhaps because I think that I am different. I can not do what everyone else can, but I have yet to meet the person who does what I do better. Life has become too easy. Believe me, this is a curse. I hate it. I was reading some of my old writing that I composed while stoned, and I have to admit there was a tempo and rhythm to it. But I am not a musician. I am a poet. And fuck the pentameter. I have to find the right balance of accepting that it is not always going to be Shakespeare when you are dry and defying the status quo. And slipping into oblivion and waking up 10 years later without any progress. Progress is slow, but if you are persistent, you are sure to go somewhere. I hope I find someone worth sharing it with when I get there. I have a new motto. It’s really a rendition on an old one, but here it goes…”Do it for her. Whoever she is.” I think in my life I have always done things for others in spite of myself. It is just a good idea to be prepared when it is time for class. If I can find someone to hold myself accountable to take cold showers, skip the desserts, and respect my body, I might just have hope yet.