The world is full of
Kings and Queens
Who blind your choices
And steal your dreams.
They put fake crowns
On our heads.
Soon all of these towns
Will be full of dread.
Shh…
Don’t move.
Everyone stay quiet.
No one play a tune.
No one write a poem.
No one sing a song.
No one do a dance.
But I won’t buy it.
Somewhere in this lonely world,
There has to be a sound.
Even in this science and math world,
There has to be some color.
Even if I am the last artist in the world,
I will do my part.

What they don't tell you-they, the general public, society, doctors, your best friends-
Is that a hospital is more than four white walls
It exists beyond the doctors in starched coats hanging to their knees
Beyond the mutterings of schizophrenic people as they walk by
Beyond the daily pills given and tongues pulled up directly after
Beyond the strip searches, the vitals taken, the evening bed-checks
A hospital lives in stigma
Stigma where you are the outcast, the
Mental patient, the
Crazy one.
A hospital lives in your mind,
In the tormented nightmares you wake up from
Shaking and drenched in sweat
Sheets twisted between white fists
A hospital lives in your gait
The way you swish your hips away from people sometimes
Because you don't want them to know your darkest secret,
Know where your barriers form, where they wall the world around you.
A hospital lives in the faint scars attached to your wrists,
Your stomach
Your thighs
Your calves
Your heart
A hospital becomes a sort of monster in this way
It rots in your memory
Tells you about that one time when things almost ended
Tells other people that you are off, but not in a way anyone can see
Unless they look hard enough
A hospital
Is supposed to heal wounds, Not
Create them.