HIDDEN SELF by Mide Benedict

http://mindfulnessmavericks.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/man-hiding-himself-isolating-oneself-because-of-depression.png

Does anyone really know
What goes on inside you?
You are the once erect
Bin now like a trash
Left in the incinerator
To burn to ash.

Does anyone really see the blood gush?
That follows your every step
The touch of pain caved within your skin?
Or do they just see the smile,
The rush of a dry stream
Flooding the desert of your mind?
Or maybe they see a rabbit;
The white in heart and a perfect coat
But if only they went deep; deeper
Reached for the mind
Uncoated the heart
They would find it was a crab
In the hole;
A mountain not a foam
A being trying to hold
All the aches of the soul.

But if they knew all along
The decay of your root,
The dust in your shelf
Then you've only been a pawn
On your chess board
An end in your game
A tear in your dress
A distress in redress.
No one will mock you
But everybody mocks.

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This is for those Who see life as an unfair land, Where growth is fairly found only On luck's fragile and ferocious tree: It is for those whose eyes only See reality as a coin Always tossed to uncertainty: For those who see misery As an inescapable ditch, Never to be seen when its mouth agars, Never to be escaped when its venom runs, But to be delivered like a slave for a ritual, Thrown like a cotyledon into dry soil, To germinate failure like a blocked well, Hoping to salvage a droughty throat. For those whose first name is lucky, Whose last name is uncertainty And middle name misery, Know that which you know not that The poison in your tongue is The wine your life drinks; It drinks on and on till stupor calls for death And stupidity dresses its grave Like a young man before a mirror, Staring unthinkingly at his face, Till he sees greyness in his eyes. This is for those who see eye to eye With the words on this slate. Image by Midé Benedict

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That Friday, everyone was spitless, yet it felt as if we spoke all at once in fading tones. Adiza, Halimat's sister wore it differently, her eyes, blood red, her tongue, twisted. Mine was twisted too. Halimat laid right there, silent and unmoving; each gaze at her drove tears out of my eyes.

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