you said to follow you and
I ended up inside myself.
why does my journey
have to be filled with pills
and walls and nurses
and screaming and cold
“hot food” and only
one room I can see
my family in?
I hate it here so much
I’m starting to like it.
my little brother
visited yesterday.
he brought music and
it made something
in my bones bright.
we smiled and danced
and hugged and laughed
and ate lasagna but
when it was time,
he went home and
I couldn’t go with him.
thanksgiving in a psych ward is not thanksgiving.
christmas in a psych ward is not christmas.
new years in a psych ward is not new years.
it is watching the ball in times square drop
while nurses check underneath my tongue
and trace their fingers along the valleys
of my gums and cheeks: they don’t trust me
to take my medication like my mother
told them I’m known for making pills into perjury.