Mental wards and fun-houses

This is more of a spoken-word piece. It’s kind of long, but it’s one of my favourites.

Poem 231 of 365 –

How could I think you deserted me?
I’m still learning, please
Forgive me.
I was seeing with fun-house-mirror vision,
You had a safe house but I thought it was a prison.
The fears had risen,
And I didn’t listen
To your voice whispering “It’s almost over.”
I thought you were drowning me with your hand on my shoulder,
Instead of comforting “Well done, Soldier.”
Did you really mean that?
Or is it a script and you’re just supposed to read that
To the patients who come into your mental ward?
It’s so safe it feels fake–have I been here before?
Your heart breaks in your mouth when you say,
“A million times and more.
You’ve come in bleeding, unconscious,
Sanity receding, fearful, and nauseous.
I’ve taken care of you
And sat by your bed.
I watched you improve even when you said,
With tears garbling your pleas, to kill you instead.
You said you weren’t worth my time,
Like you spun the world yourself,
But it’s mine.
So are you,
Don’t say you’re not worth it.
I died for you,
And I know you’re not–that’s kind of the point.
When you call me ‘Father,’ that’s my greatest joy.
But you never call me that,
Not here in this ward,
You only use that name
When you feel adored,
When your scabs are healed for. . .
What, how long does it take 
For you to scrape your knees 
And tell me love is fake?
This is a safe house.
Did you hear me? You’re safe now,
But I need you to trust me
Or you’ll never get out
Of the fun-house distortion you made so cleverly.
It’s steeped in lies and burdens so heavily.
Unique to you, no one else would believe them,
I give you gifts, but you don’t receive them.
Screaming about how you have to do it alone,
When you don’t.
You really don’t.
I think you know what needs to be done.
That house you built is the opposite of fun.
Let’s tear it down together,
And sever the tether.
Trust me, please,
Let me help you get better.”

~ Essie

2 thoughts on “Mental wards and fun-houses

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