From the Psych-ward : 05/07-11/2017

Together, we are here.

Waiting because our lives went South.

Or maybe we are those

who have never known North?

Which way does the needle point?

Does it point upward toward God

as so many pray?

Does it point within

to acknowledge and accuse?

Does it point at all?

I think so.

I’ve felt the needle tear

as the knife nipped me,

a lover’s bite

to bring me back to life.

But not in here.

In our ward, life is small.

The time, the stay, the meaning.

The treatment tells me

that I am not human.

The lack of care here shows

that human is all that I am.

Reduced from a tender mind—

Tissue bright, sparkling, intact.

My flesh became

what I had cut into it.

My tongue once chose favorites.

It spun stories, comfort, praise.

Now it swallows what they give it

and bites itself

so as not to incriminate me.

Short stay facility. 3-5 days.

They obsess over my life

while I yearn to experience

either its flourish or its end.

But together we will all wait,

losing new friends like a raft

that leaks air…

taking on new passengers

as a boat takes on water…

Together we will wait

for break time.

They will take us all outside

like dogs on walks.

Together we will shove our toes

into the wet, dead grass

and let our scars smile

in the sun.