[i find the healing process odd.

opening old wounds is like bloodletting.
only if you do it alone,
the healthy tissue might too flow.

i fear the picking of scabs,
because when the gape widens,
no amount of new skin can cover the chasm.]

i hear the clicking against slabs,
when heel strikes floor, down hall.
across from doorway now.
clicking stops. door handle chops.

all things that once echoed, fall silent.
all things that once made sense, churn in head, quiet.

husky nurse in standard attire, usually lets me play games in rec room til I’m tired.
today her heels smacked the floor differently.
todays happenings would lead to a later in life epiphany.

we walked together toward the direction she came. intake was days ago, everything should be the same.

I’m nine and I’ve been enough places to know what a janitors’ closet looks like. I’ve been to enough Doctors to know that exam rooms smell white.

I’ve had enough hands touch me… that I’m confused about what’s wrong and right.

assessment starts the same as before.
click of door.
nurse is needed no more.

watch as clothes slouch off, drop to floor.
he watches as I bend at request. he watches as I spread at his behest.

he is “looking for marks”. tells me I should be healing in parts.

when I first arrived, I had a scratch down the length of my spine. not sure how he’s checking that when I’m lying, suppine.

exam is over. room’s a little colder. i walk out with a little more weight on shoulders.

no heels clicking tile floor for retrieval.

I wander the hall back to my room, slinking like weasel.


i find i only ever hover my hand above the bible when swearing an oath.

i remember the looks of my sorority sisters, in all our white coats.

silently questioning my refusal of tradition,
wondering if they know that oaths are easily overwritten.

thinking its funny that we pledge upon something rooted in religion.

doubly wondering if my psych ward doctor identified as a Christian.

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