“Having fun, bye”
Was what they said.
And they drowned themselves in distraction
while I drowned myself in writing.
Trying to ignore the diagnosis
and the appointments gone ignored.
The missing things in my room
as my parents took them away.
The quiet tension as I sneak away
as if I were breaking a law instead of boundary.
“Sadness, anxiety... prescription...”
I hear them whisper.
“She definitely has anxiety issues...”
And I try
“Perhaps... maybe you should...”
to ignore what is wrong with me and the world.
“This.”
I go dead cold, asleep and awake at once.
“Here.”
And it's a pill.
My mother objects,
but my father beckons to me to take it-
that it will help.
I am scared. I was always scared.
Since I was four and crept downstairs to see
if they were both still alive-
seeing, at age twelve, if he was still alive-
seeing, at age fifteen, if I was still myself.
Why am I still here? I'm still awake?
I was always afraid I would die, or that others would because of me.
Now, I have two choices.
Die, or die for the wrong cause.
Live, or live in misery.
“Take this...”
“We'll schedule for Monday...”
“How are you doing?”
I'm fine.
If only I could find someone
like a tree.
Who stays put.
For I'm a vine- dead in the winter but
still there, ever.. always... dying and reviving.
Someone who, like a tree, thinks natural is best
and genuine comes foremost.
One who doesn't say
“Did you take your medication today?”
or even
“You'll be fine.”
Because a vine is ever hungry for answers,
but never speaks.
Vines are afraid and hang on.
They are sorry, but it is what thy are taught to do.