In bustling streets I walk alone,
Along paths of grey stone.

This feeling I have not known,
But within these walls I have grown,
To you this will be shown.

i spent a week
in the behavioral center
psych ward
mental hospital

they said three to five days
they said they wanted to monitor
i spent a week

simplistic routine
group and rec therapy
all so they could see
why
i was feeling the things i felt

asking questions
getting personal
i spent a week

new medication
new friends
new experiences
new diagnosis

all from the psych ward

i notice it everywhere now
why i do the things i do

bipolar
a simple word that explains
EVERYTHING

it all makes sense
the decisions i make
that i wouldn’t normally make

it all makes sense
the racing thoughts
twenty four seven three sixty five

it all makes sense
the excessive shopping
with money i don’t have

it all makes sense
my mouth and my brain
racing
but not on the same track

it all makes sense

i spent a week
in the psych ward



-k.l.

As I swallowed my miseries,
          the pain consumed me,
          the weakness nipped my heels,
I felt fear.

As I sat in the hospital bed,
           the ocean drained my sorrows,
           the needle pierced my soul,
I felt weakness.

As I closed my eyes in group therapy,
            the sins of others spoke to me,
            the sins of myself consumed me,
I felt nothing.

But as I sat in the caged courtyard,
             the wind embraced me,
             the sun caressed me,
*I felt peace.

I keep thinking about this beautiful girl from the mental hospital. Her name was Carion, and she didn't exist.
She had lived her entire life without a social security number, no blood type or birth certificate to define her
and the walls of Calhoun couldn't confine her because she would
Carry On - that's how I spelled it in my head.
I know her name was only one 'r' from being the word for dead animals, but it never registered for me.
She was no corpse for vultures or hounds, but they stalked her anyway,
her demons were hyenas lurking in shadows but her
round eyes were bright and she told me I was pretty and that, later, she'd flirt with me if it weren't against the rules.
I wanted to flirt with her, too. Make that brown bark flesh all flushed with a blush from the way we whispered sweet nothings with voices all hushed.
Oh, Carry-On.
Those blue hospital gowns wrapped around you, on that dark skin like the way a robins-egg hue clashed with the branches of a nest.
I remember how we sat with the same pain in our chests.  
I hope she's ok.
I hope she's still carrying on in the same way she did in that horrible place.