Your lips possessed a fire pressed lightly
Gentle and warm, with no reason to fight
I was the beheaded lily, attempting to regrow.
My foundation already shaken
I revealed to you, my friend,
a sweet smelling and slightly sweating hand
With which you used to pull me closer,
with a touch of excitement.
But I misunderstood your purpose or you misunderstood your malice
I thought you held peace within your embrace
but I was strung and laced with oiled string
That were set aflame and burned grooves into my collarbone
And something thrilling,
tinged with a fear that I tried to overlook and bury,
Unearthed itself little by little
growing so tall that I had to force myself to let go
But it wasn’t soon enough
I hit the ground.
My anger died and was reborn into a monster
that I had hoped would consume us both
But it’s only me that stares out of this white window,
sitting on this white bed,
Looking out at a world that I won’t rejoin
Until I piece back together what I thought was mine.
My poem "White Room" was written about and partially in the psychiatric inpatient ward. I was there for around 5 days, partially because i had no medication to stem the tide of mental feedback i was having. looking back, it still hurts, but probably because the place i am in now still sympathizes with the girl who ended up in that hospital bed. Even if it's true, that I've gotten better, something in me cant say for certain that I truly have, although I have parents and friends that would say differently. Right now, my interests rarely lie in getting better. They more rely on BEING better. As for being better, I havent really managed it quite well.
In addition, one would think with all my boy problems that stem from my own mental unhealthiness, that I would give them up all together for awhile. Yet, everytime I think about doing that, I remember how unfair it was that the trauma from my years in middle school kept me from maturing socially in high school and college, especially when it came to dealing with sex and romance. It's not fair that I missed out on so much time and I dont want to miss out on any more. But god, I still feel like I'll tear myself apart from this because what I really want in my social life isnt within my reach. I want something different for myself. Most of all I want my brain to operate differently and function as if it still wishes to be alive and the person I am. No meds will fix that either.