"inpatient" poems
Depersonalization
Derealization
Dissociation
Delusional
Hallucinations
Confabulation
Perseveration
persevered.
Clanging
Rhyming
Echolalia
echolalia.
Paranoia
Ideas of reference
Thought blocking
Internal stimuli
Thought broadcasting
heard
every way
every day.
Mental disorders
or
poets extraordinary
The Paiute anthropologist
locked up on the
inpatient unit
with visions of the ancestors
dancing in his eyes
said
"See these folks
you have locked up,
In ancient days
from the desert hills
they came our way
delivered truths
in their special way.
"Once they had their say
On desert winds
they blew back
up to their hills
away
straight away. "
"Can you please
give me the keys.
I've said what
I had to say. "
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 10:04 AM UTC
Hidden from the burden of conversation, you graze your toe across a rock
-- slice.
Pain, creeping
wrapping its hot oils up your calf
it hurts more
no one wants to share
who understands?
don't be silly!
you’re on your own now
no one will be calling your name
So desperate
for a box you search
to hide your grief, happiness, and doubts in
some are presented with one
a carved handmade one
with gold outlines
who knows how they got one
the unlucky stumble upon the rich boxes of others
smothering them with inpatient finger prints of hope
but why
why they plead
in their constant prayers
why must they have the ***** leftovers
the cups recycled
used in a previous place for ***** samples
too small even for three people
they clean it and make due
what else can they do
Wait.
that’s what
But. Why?
are they not worthy?
ugly?
already fortunate?
I guess that works
and most are happy with it
see it around them
everybody has a *** cup
but what happens when everyone gets lucky?
You hide Envy?
no ignorant ones
Alone.
Dec 30, 2011
Dec 30, 2011 at 8:52 PM UTC
109
So ******* lucky
To be the person I am
Be as you are
90
Flying in the air
Notes ebb and flow
So sweetly
124
In her arms
She gently caresses
My beating heart
125
Listen carefully
The universe whispers
Through wind, rain, and heart
126
Frantic I am
Inpatient, frustrated
Reason? Unknown
127
The thoughts, words
Trickle slowly from above
Below and within
119
Unfolding slowly
My buds reach for the sky
And gasp for water
120
Delicate, open
Seeking the next level
My roots deepen
106
Tremendously
Shy, empathic, bold
Beautiful brownie
115
Accepting, gentle
Shrewd, candid, brilliant
Little ‘ol me
116
I’ve come to
Expect; unexpected
Events always
107
I am spring
Shining, bright, lucid
Ready to blossom
112
I accept you
Exactly as you are
Perfect, flawless, you
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 3:04 PM UTC
The Idea of you was lust
Now like a unwanted pimple its time for this season of my life to bust.
No trust,
Between us
Because your obsession isn't killing us, it's me.
While you ****** me your looking for your next victim.
Rusting of the metal that melted us as one
I scream to escape while my body remains in its vegetated state
While loved ones hold heated debates on what treatment I should take.
Inpatient or out seems like either route It's no end to the insanity of a strong hold
No goal
Seems attainable
No moments of being free from the chains you keep around me.
The gag between my teeth keeps your control over me.
Feb 22, 2011
Feb 22, 2011 at 8:54 AM UTC
Twenty classless, eight cigarettes.
Fighting over the radio at the
Inpatient Mental Health Facility,
A broken sense of belonging,
And a dearth of veggie burgers.
Listless with his lists, of course.
Angst from the Anglophile, unable to
Put a stopper in the pouring,
Bleeding emotions.
Open hands
Stained red, and brown.
Three breaks a day, scarring his
Broken knuckles, they paint the walls.
Code Smoking Gun,
Code Smoking Green,
Manic man, loading his shoulders with his
Father’s burden, too big for Atlas’s arms,
Or his mother’s shunning palms.
Three breaks a day,
Knee, shoulder, hip.
The coffee’s decaf
But your calves? Well,
They’re just sore.
They dish the brick every
Other evening. But living, for
No light, only serves to lessen your
Love of life and make you
Light-headed.
Broken beds with rock-solid
Pillows. Three breaks a day to
Remind you of your regression. We
Want you here as much.
Why’re you whining?
Busy doctors bust the doors, thank
God for the freedom, the
Fluorescent finish to your odyssey. The
Flowers and grass greet you in
Shades of pink and green your
Greedy eyes hadn’t seen.
Exhale. Ghost out your grieving.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC
The world is but an oyster
which we all are forced to inhabit
in a scramble of arms, legs and meaningful dreams.
A disaster in the wake.
A broken-hearted fowl.
A disinterested love interest
with a clasp on the bitter reality of rain clouds and hurricanes.
We lie in the waiting,
tell truth in the rush,
inpatient,
immoral.
We never really understood the world and how it rolls.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 6:12 PM UTC
"what do you think I should do?"
you looked in between your fingers and said to me
don’t be her cigarette
don’t let her light you up when there’s nothing to do and
put you out once she’s bored.
don’t be the aftertaste of chemicals in her mouth.
don’t be the black **** she spits onto the sidewalk.
don’t be convenient.
don’t be one of twenty in a pack of Marlboros.
so I left her.
you always knew what to say.
I never would have guessed that two months later
I would call you crying to say goodbye
hoping you would at least make a half assed attempt to care
with my phone in my left hand
and a handful of pills overflowing in my shaking right,
I never could have guessed you would’ve answered
with a complaint about how I woke you up.
I landed in the E.R.
like a skydiver lands in the ocean—
fumbling to unbuckle yourself from the parachute
sinking heavy in the salt water
being dragged down by the very fabric that was supposed to save me
trying to claw your way back up to the surface
like desperately clawing at the ceiling of your coffin
like lungs about to burst
like vision blurred
I was drowning
the thing that was supposed to save me
sunk me.
I sat under the florescent lights
that first night
wondering if you had called back
knowing you hadn’t
the whole week I picked at the white bracelet on my wrist
“female, 5’6”, 115 pounds, INPATIENT.”
While wondering if you cared
but knowing you don’t
But hoping you did
because it’s hard to hear for months the
“I’m not going anywhere
I love you
I’m right here
Call whenever you need it
at 3 in the morning or at 3 pm
you don’t need a reason to call if you
want to call just to hear my voice call.
we have something special
and I hope we never loose it
you’re my best friend
I was meant to have met you”—
********
You were my parachute.
The message I had from you
when I got discharged from the psych ward was:
“I have a lot going on and won’t be able to reply much.”
You always know what to say.
You pulled me under
you, heavy fabric
you, life-saving-invention
you, malfunctioned son of a *****
you—chain-smoker.
I have been one of twenty in her pack of Marlboros.
And now I’m one of twelve in your pack of Camels.
I've since quit smoking.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
It's been a year since my suicide attempt. Right now, I'd be in the ER waiting to find out which inpatient clinic I'd go to. One year. Since, I have escaped from toxic people and shifted from an old self. One year. What do I have to show for it? Emotional outbursts? A nicotine addiction? Abandoning my creativity? A battle with a psychological addiction to psychedelic drugs? What does progress look like? What does it mean to reconstruct yourself? A building torn - that's what I am. A prairie, a forest, which has experienced a wild fire. Beyond recognition, I deface myself - as if to erase myself and destroy the things I like. What does progress look like? Am I getting there? In my view, progress is not always seen by you directly. It is not our job to determine if we make progress, but, by the value of people and situations in our lives, we will have it be seen. To do things for ourselves is wonderful. But, what does progress look like? It looks like making giant leaps forward - and then three steps back. It looks like dipping our toe in the water, and then wanting to dry off. It looks like it's perfect, but actually not. It looks like a broken toy fixed with expired super glue. Who are we to determine progression? It's an obsession of the mind for us to think that progress means we must always be fine - that we must be perfect. If I have a million irrational thoughts in a day, does that make my one totally rational thought insignificant? I think not. If I spend one day totally upbeat, productive, and happy - are my sad feelings any less valid? No. So, progress looks like this: admitting to yourself that sometimes we won't have things together completely. We acknowledge it, think rationally, and move to the next focus. Progress is not total immunization of our quirks, but it is less demonization for how we work. Our brains - they want to help us survive. The brain gets confused among irrational thoughts and can jump and put us in an emotional turmoil jeopardy. But, be kind to yourself. Be kind to the "miswires" in your brain - because it cares for you and wants you to survive. Strive. What does progress look like? I'm not sure if I can see mine - I'm not sure what it totally looks like. But, maybe, look in a mirror. See yourself - the reflection of desire. Aspire to be who you are, judgement free. In a sort of clarity, you can see. Ask yourself:
"What does progress look like?"
It looks a bit like you.
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 9:02 PM UTC
When I was admitted to the hospital 1 month ago in as inpatient, there was a 17 year old girl, lets call her sunshine, (I decided to call her this while telling this story so I would not give away her real name). I was always full of energy when all the patients did groups on self esteem and such, or played cards in the unit lounge. But inside I was dying, to get out of there, and dying to die. Sunshine was there for drug overdose, similar to me. Things she said always brightened my day, made me happy inside and out, she's a sweetheart. We had to do a "check-in" sheet every morning at 9am, after breakfast. It asked us various questions such as, "Rate your mood from 1-10", "Name three positive things that happened yesterday", "What's your goal for today and three ways you can achieve it?". Sunshine always had the same answer for the last question, "Just be". Her ways to achieve it were "Peace, love and good vibes". The staff never liked her answers. She did have her violent days, but she did have a positive impact on everyone around her. I love her so much, I don't know what I'd do if she wasn't at the hospital when I was. When you have nothing left, "Just be"
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 6:59 AM UTC
The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you—
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if life could really be that simple?
I am twenty, confused, and clinically depressed
I went to therapy, then to inpatient, and now I’m home
to this house that I’ve known since birth,
Depression is not the only thing I feel, so it is not all of me.
But the path down this road has been long, and dark,
Going up hills and making turns, that got me lost sometimes,
But I’m starting to see the light of day,
Everything happens for a reason they say.
My journey isn’t over yet, but I’ll tell you what I’ve learned:
I’m not easy to understand, but nobody is,
at twenty, my age. But I know I am not just what
I feel and see and hear. Instead I am also what
I think, and say, and do. Aren’t we all?
The things that define me, aren’t only in my head.
They can be read, and heard, and seen,
My words spoken out loud, or written down are
The decisions I make, such as letting go, or fighting;
Telling a truth, or a lie; giving, or taking
I guess having depression doesn’t make me a good or bad person
Despite my disorder, I make ordinary choices.
So will my definition of me be alright,
Even if it means, I’m not always delighted to be here.
But I will be here
Just like you are, instructor.
You might be happy with life---
Yet you have your troubles, just as I have mine.
That’s human.
Perhaps you don’t want to be a part of some sad occasions,
Nor do I often want to be a part of them either.
But we are, and that’s life!
As I learn from my mistakes and hard times,
I guess you learn from yours—
although you’re older—and wiser—
and I have less life experience than you.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
begin the day ; a **** taught of features
in need of clean linen,
unswallowable meds
and a diaper change
routine ; that'll teach ya !
they ask her the day of the week
her name
what year it is
when is your birthday ?
do you feel any pain ?
do you know where you are ?
flailing in memory
they just turn off the overheads
and let her settle into her senility
attend to the physical basics
whilst she's suckered into her own storage unit
operating like a humming fridge
with its door slight ajar
and the small hot bulb
finking on and winking off
- perish well
& in comfort Dear
Mar 27, 2022
Mar 27, 2022 at 3:22 PM UTC
Days spent inpatient
Couldn't save me from me
Years spent in treatment
Failing to set me free
Dozens of medications
Just to be told it's BPD
Hundreds of coping mechanisms
Yet you still won't believe
I've worn myself out trying
To fight for a release.
Dec 19, 2024
Dec 19, 2024 at 12:36 AM UTC
Im sick
Of hiding behind the fence
Of normality
When you get down to reality
Everyone is either slightly closer
To either
Normality
Or
Insanity
Which are you!?
Go by inspirations?
NO **** THAT! HATE YOUR INSPIRATIONS!!
Impire yourself to become an inspiration
And to make other ******* weaklings
to kiss you *** to try to get tips out of you
Amd when that day comes
You simply give them the same tips i gave you
BREAK RULES
GET MAD
GET INPATIENT
DO STUPID MEANINGLESS ****
AND LEARN RATHER THAN FEEL PITY FOR YOUR SELF
FALL
RECOVER
HEAL
LEARN
AND REPEAT
Until the day youre inspired to inspire
The person you are today will ALWAYS know more therefore be wiser THEREFORE be better and closer to perfection than the person you were yesterday
Show people you can
Show people you would
Amd show people you could
So you say to yourself
I will redeem
Redeem i shall
and redeem YOU WILL!
I promise you my fellow freind
Everyone who stood by your redemption
Will love the new you
And everone who left
Will miss the new you
Do NOT invite them back
F.C
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 11:41 PM UTC
the lumy screen
x-ray mission
counting ribs
but courting what's in-between
trying to salvage disease
from the pardonable cage
use corrective attractors
drag them on the screen
and mould a mange of the dark spots
humble in an alcove
zoom in on the spot
take out your little skin leafed
pocket book
clean the cough from your throat
and sprout 'the working words of God'
a congregation of cancer cells
put in their place
medicine
Mar 27, 2022
Mar 27, 2022 at 3:24 PM UTC
Our fires clash, the sources worlds apart.
My mind is still, my heart beats fleeting.
And I ask myself why, or how strangers of two ends up finding themselves reaping
for the air the other breathes, and the other one’s heart.
But soon our worlds meet, and I feel myself clashing.
I think of you as bright as the embers that burn hot like the sun,
or how it feels to have your first taste of ***
A slow-burn that inks the back of your throat, that leaves you asking for more, as the mind begins cracking.
We went out for coffee —
Funny enough, we both liked it plain.
We talked about our lives, and soon, I thought us insane.
For we laughed all day, until the sun went away.
“Until another day,” You say.
But we were inpatient, it had barely been 3 days
Before you asked me out for coffee in another café.
No longer did it take for me to be your captive,
And If you ask me to love,
I say, “I will.”
For I’ll give you all my love, my soul, my heart.
Only if you ask, my dear.
May 3, 2021
May 3, 2021 at 4:17 AM UTC
Sound pulsates like gelatin from the
Mouths of the starving
Funding for this program was brought to you by the
Mouths of the starving
Torture would be given to the
Mouths of the starving
Power is inpatient because all of us are
Starving
May 15, 2012
May 15, 2012 at 10:36 AM UTC
A slip of the foot morphed into
an excruciating plummet into a void.
Before YOU know it, everyone else does
and you're bandaged up and tucked in bed
You've snowballed. It was out of your hands.
The word "Inpatient" echoes in your head
and you can't help but wonder:
"What did my parents say?"
There you are, still disoriented.
You're prospected expectations have
naturally become an escalated reality.
Now you're flooded with more
Diag-Nonsese and counterproductive
There-Rape-me spouts and handouts.
I didn't go down the road this time,
so how did I get here? Oh yes,
the ultimate phrase indeed "It's going to
get better, you just have to be patient."
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 3:49 AM UTC
***** spread out like a planned vacation
Got me looking at it like I forgot to eat somethin'
Juicy fruit precipitation drippin' from the conversation
So I lick my lips just to ease the cravings
That tight lipped slit needs an interrogation
Welcome to the police station
Hands up, ******* down, **** out
Now get down and assume the position
Yeah, baby
I'm a Caucasian Freemason inpatient from New Haven
Basement unshaven - I call it the Night Raven,
But when your man's missing and you're
feeling impatient you can call it the ******* Replacement
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 8:46 PM UTC
Every argument is the end of the world.
It is without doubt the crumbling of everything
Wonderful in your current existence,
It just is, end of thought no sense in resistance.
My words are fire bringing you down down
To some personal hell, I’m astounded
That you have found this, so simply to be your
Honest truth, I have little patience, I hate this
And you become inpatient when I’m laughing
At the time you’ve wasted, and I don’t feel bad
For finally saying the things neither of us look forward to facing
But its better than letting all this stuff chase us,
But its not us is it, its only me how dare I
Slow down long enough to confront anything
Surly once again I have brought about the inevitable end,
And why would I go out of my way to ruin
Such a beautiful thing, I guess I’m just mean.
Isn’t that what you said?
Jul 26, 2012
Jul 26, 2012 at 3:06 AM UTC