after the doctors, the family therapy
there remains a feeling of white walls and sterilized gloves
sterilized gloves, handling me very carefully
they make you wear non-slip socks but you can't have your shoes
you might strangle yourself with the laces
and my pills are all locked up somewhere now where i can't get them
my mother's voice sounds like the hush of tiptoeing feet on too-clean tile floors
they handle me with sterilized gloves and panic when i'm in my room for too long
as if it's abnormal
as if i haven't been known to hide
the echos in the hallways sound different on the other side of the hospital
nervous, uneasy peace and hushed whispers
i am made of glass
but being treated like it feels like standing in drenched clothes
my fingers are pruning up
i have a feeling
this will take a long time to dry