I wake:
Empty, Groggy, confused, Blinking, Moving, feeling. I fall: Routine As my guide, A soldier Trudging, marching, breathing. I hear: Sighing Of muted pleas, To rest, to rest; I fall. Functionalism |
I starve:
Nothing, It cannot, will not Satiate the yearning Of tongues. I learn: Swim, or Drown, Abandoned by An uncaring world. I walk: Lonely, Silent, But for The monster. |
I pray:
A mantra For hope, Help me live To see, to see, to see, See How I Go Forth. |
I wake:
I am cold, So cold, A tin soldier Rusting. Frozen in the motion, A victim of the blaring, Screaming, sobbing, burning Pain of a world In which it matters Not whether I Live or die But Whether I Serve a use |
To the greedy pulling hands
Of the world consuming Me and my flesh, Bones, blood, Thoughts, words, feelings, Not enough for them Nor for I, Only a shell, A vessel for consumption Only the hungry will seize. This makes me Good, They say, Good to be of use As a toy, |
A plaything,
A puppet, A doll, Only alive because I have something. They want not my mind, My voice, my person. They want my number In line for a ticket I never wanted to pay for. You must be this tall to ride, They say, And because I am that tall, I am expected to ride When I am afraid of heights. |
Conditioning?
Nay, a force of habit Initiated by threats of pain Be a good girl, Says the monster, Raising her hands. Be a good girl, Says the instructor, Patting my head. Be a good girl, Says the demons, Slapping, kicking, punching The walls of a tender mind Victim to the hands and feet and mouths Of demons and devils |
Whose only plea
Is that I Be a good girl. I am a good girl, I say, Falling on deaf ears. I learn to hide, Conform, conceal, Refrain from myself Because I am not a good girl. When I am true I am acting out, Disruptive, a failure. Men leave, Says the monster, Taking away the photograph. |
Letters define you,
Says the instructor, Marking me in red ink. You are unworthy, Says the demons, Ripping the flesh. Keep your head down. Dress conservatively. Don’t speak out. Don’t speak out? How can I speak out When I have forgotten how? |
What do you feel?
Asks the nice lady in the red chair, Pen in hand, waiting to consume Every last part of me. I feel fine, I tell the nice lady in the red chair, But sometimes I wonder what it would be like To hurt my dog. The nice lady in the red chair Writes words on her clipboard And thanks me for my time, She’ll see me next week. |
When I see her next week
She tells me to take the pretty blue pills And go with the nice man in the white jacket To a safe place. The nice man in the white jacket Isn’t a nice man at all. He won’t let me move my arms or legs And I can’t eat my pasta. The ambulance is cold but they took my blanket Because I can’t take an unwashed blanket Into the safe place With other nice men in white jackets. |
The girl in the safe place tells me her name.
She tells me the men in the white jackets Take blood very early while you sleep And if you don’t wake up it’s okay. The men in the white jackets wake me up And take my blood. They pat me on the head And send me back to bed. I don’t tell them I think about hurting my dog Or that I want to die. I say that my favorite color is yellow And I like to dance. |
We are all
Good, They say. We all want To improve, They say. We are not Our behaviors, They say. They ask me, How do I feel? But I know not. I am my thoughts, My experiences, My perceptions. |
Merely qualitative data
On a clipboard Explaining my conscious. How was I loved? Regardless of my shortcomings, Dependant on my success? I am projecting A false image To shield me. I want to grow, Says the doctor, As if they can ever know. |
But can I grow
When I feel So fundamentally broken? This means I have a deficiency Somewhere in my needs. That is what the doctor says When I tell them Change is too much. How do I satisfy an image When I never had my own To begin with? |
Are all things
Measured In incompletes As humans are? Or are we Summative, A collage of Moving parts? What is my Whole? What are my Incompletes, what have you? Two plus two equals Four But no. Two plus two must equal five. |
It is more than
Itself, Is it not? Thereby as am I. A creature of Habit, Patterns and routines, Processes of personal significance. They mean nothing to Anyone Because they mean everything To me. They see a scholar, Musician, Sister, photographer, Daughter of a daughter. |
I see more than
Only A person to people Who are without. I may be a Person To people but To me I am myself. More than just a daughter, Sister, Musician, friend, Past and future lover, A soul with a Heart Ruled not by incompletes But interdependencies. |
It is no secret
That I am depressed. I take the pills And learn to smile. But what does it mean To be depressed If I take the pills And learn to smile? Am I succeeding If I still see the world In black and white And muted greys? Logically I know That suicide is not the answer But part of me screams That it is the only one. |
The things I perceive
Are warped by a mind Plagued with thoughtlessness That thinks for itself. My thoughts are endless, A disorganized chaos That pours out of my fingertips Like stars from the dying sky. I have focus issues, Says the doctor. So I take the pills And pretend to understand. She talks too fast When I am not there To hear her words And make them my own. |
I move without a second guess
Because it is a waste of time To spend energy on a decision Already predetermined. Movement, they say, Is good for you. Why are my movements Too much, too fast, too loud? I tell the doctor that I saw a cat today And it sat beneath A parked food truck. She tells me to focus And gives me more pills So that next week I don’t tell her About the dog with the pretty blue bow. |