18 Years: A Poem

14

“Fuck you,” I shout at the sky.
Both middle fingers extended fully,
boiling tears stream down my nose and cheeks,
corroding and burning as they roll.
I return to my room,
my eight by ten cell.
“Please end me,” I beg the silence in the sky.
Every ugly face is of an enemy,
fangs lurk under fake smiles,
hatred coursing through my veins.

18

I stare in a mirror.
The ugliest face of all stares back.
The man before me can barely fake a smile,
his fangs cut his lips.He is hollow.
I know if I cut him open there will be nothing inside.
I cut his wrists.
The sight of blood convinces me I am wrong.

20

My voice SQUEAKS upon first use,
but it is loud.
My Family cringes in disgust,
in pain,
as my high pitched SQUACK shocks their ears.
They quickly acclimate,
and SQUACK back.
Several shrieking voices drown out my fresh new one.
I SQUACK louder,
they SQUACK louder.
The flower that I SQUACK for has been stepped on.
It is crushed.
I try to prune,
to salvage any petals.
The flower wilts and falls dead.
I return to my nest,
flowerless.

23

Home now.
There are family members,
but the walls are unfamiliar.
This is not the place I left.
Yet the eight by ten cell feels the same.
Concrete columns under overpasses,
sing like Syrens.
Every fiber of my soul wants to go.
They say I’m sick.
I go into a building.
There is a bedridden woman,
who wails like a banshee.
I’m not that sick.