The Hospital

This poem talks about society's central problem: we nitpick others' faults, but we rarely pay attention to our own.

I’ve spent a thousand midnights wide awake,
As doctors stop to stoop beside my bed.
They shake their heads, expressions all opaque,
And wonder as to they’ll fix my head.
My vision blurs: the first incision’s made,
Revealing broken beating brain beneath;
Beneath fluorescent bulbs, the glis’ning blades
Cut criss-cross scars: I breathe through gritted teeth.
These nightly operations wear me thin,
For what is wrong exactly they don’t know.
I don’t need help, in truth it’s they who sin,
When all they do is poke me full of holes.
Perhaps it isn’t I who fixed need be,
But rather it’s our flawed society.

Author's Note

I think that the couplet at the end needs the most work.