five w's of a mental breakdown

The best time to write a poem is after you have been crying for half an hour.

i.

Who was the person who hurt me-

Who broke me and tore me apart,

Who wrote an apology letter in my blood,

And mailed it to my hospital room?

No name was signed, I looked,

But it did look like your handwriting. 

You came into my room and 

Snatched it out of my shaky hands. 

You told me he was good at forgery,

And like a child, I believed you. 

ii.

What will I be at the end of this?

What pieces are going to be left of me?

Will I look back at this game of smoke and mirrors,

And see how horrible I truly am? 

Will I despise this person, this being, 

This rotting and repulsive body I am in?

I let you use me as a Knight, and a damsel,

As both the counselor and the patient,

As both the infant and the caregiver. 

What I am is none of those things,

Yet I am still so confused. 

iii.

 When will I be old enough, big enough,

Strong enough for it to stop?

The constant hassling, the bothering,

The hindering of my opportunities. 

I was stuck inside a cage, decorated with pillows,

And I believed it was a bedroom. 

When will I leave the bedroom? 

When will I earn the key? 

When will the age stop changing? 

No matter how old I get, I’m always too young 

To go and live the way I deserve,

But old enough to hurt the way you want. 

iv.

Where can I go that you won’t find me?

Where in this forsaken planet 

Can I step away without hearing your voice?

I see you in the shadows, I feel you with me,

I look over my shoulder constantly. 

I hear you call my name across the country,

And I respond every time it happens. 

Will you follow me to the ends of the earth?

To the depths of the sea? To judgement?

Where can I find peace from this dread-

I feel the most sick to my stomach

On my healthiest and brightest days.

v.

Why can’t I say no to you?

Why is it such a crime for me to have autonomy,

To have some sense of self dignity?

You choke me in your embrace

And I beg you to stop and let me go,

But sharing blood means no rights,

So I must suffer in the name of a mother’s love. 

A door that is shut must be opened,

Regardless of what is on the other side. 

Whether it be a nap or a curtain,

Separation is not an option. 

A desire to be alone is a crime in and of itself.

Reviews

[Ada]

You leave much to the imagination...as to whether this piece refers to mental illness, addiction or a person...the inability to escape rings true throughout the piece.