white socks pad down the floor
white walls truncate the view
of the nine floors
i know are below me

you ask me again:
what seems to be the problem

well it seems you won't let me
have my shoes at all
for fear i might strangle
myself or others with the
dark purple shoe laces

you state categorically:
severe signs of apathy
fear of surroundings
misdirected anger
does that seem correct?

no you forgot several points:
the parasuicidal behavior
so you all call it
that i intended to fail
that i even tried

the food here stinks
i'm not allowed real clothes
there are no windows
and you ask me if i'm alright

i'm not afraid of being here
of the cold tiled floor
of the light blue johnny
that slides off my sholder
because of the size

i came here by choice
and no matter
how many times i explain
you can't seem to
make
it
stop

make what stop
you demand from
behind rectangular glasses

the fact that my mother
is yelling at me

your mother is not here
you calmly explain
she has not been in to visit
you are safe

i stare blankly at your
leather shoes all laced up
you can start with the sound
of my mother's angry yet
smiling with exultation
voice that is coming from
directly behind me
shouting how horrible
a person i am and
interrupting every facet
of my thinking processes

oh we can fix that you say
i'll write you up some scripts

i think to myself
but what about the
years of trauma
the abuse and anger

my blood surges through
my liver my brain
my psycosis
and you walk off
leaving me behind