when can I go home?
I’m reduced here, on a chair
full of sand, crying to my dad
and pushing the ***** receiver
into my wet cheek. it’s thanksgiving
and he told everyone
I have the flu, an easy lie
I try to believe, anything but this,
curled fetal in the yellow hall
fluorescent strangers staring holes
in my paper clothes.
I may as well be naked
because there are no mirrors,
no sharp objects or soft ones;
I’m too dangerous for moisturizer
curl cream, chapstick, contact solution
who knows what I might do
they try to get me
on lithium. they draw blood,
call me noncompliant;
really I’m just nineteen
at a loss so I write a letter
in crayon to my mom:
I love you. I can never
see you again. maybe one day
I will need you how I am supposed to.
Oct 19, 2025
Oct 19, 2025 at 1:14 PM UTC
when can I go home?
I’m reduced here, on a chair
full of sand, crying to my dad
and pushing the ***** receiver
into my wet cheek. it’s thanksgiving
and he told everyone
I have the flu, an easy lie
I try to believe, anything but this,
curled fetal in the yellow hall
fluorescent strangers staring holes
in my paper clothes.
I may as well be naked
because there are no mirrors,
no sharp objects or soft ones;
I’m too dangerous for moisturizer
curl cream, chapstick, contact solution
who knows what I might do
they try to get me
on lithium. they draw blood,
call me noncompliant;
really I’m just nineteen
at a loss so I write a letter
in crayon to my mom:
I love you. I can never
see you again. maybe one day
I will need you how I am supposed to.
