These cobblestones once carried me
lost and terrified
to meet
the 73 to Belmont and
the Hospital on the Hill.

They once carried me
drunk or high or medicated,
“manic” or “depressed”,
or all of it at once.
At dusk and 2AM
and sunrise after sleepless nights,
when I’d sit with
runaways in the pit
and chain smoke butts,
wondering when
I’d finally die.

These cobblestones now carry me
whole and alive and human,
like I always was
but simply couldn’t see,
with that lens of
Psychiatry once
smothering my eyes,
my spirit.

It’s good to be back here
on these cobblestones,
on this soon-to-be-spring night.

-Written April 2nd, 2015