You say to me,
Hey SD, How are you SD?
And I smile, broader and broader hoping, brother
That my gleaming dentition would serve as dictation
Dictating to you in clear diction the things that I cannot say
The things I dare not say.
When you say, “How are you SD”
Aren’t you just asking;
“How are you …still here,” “how are you… Still alive”
Can I really open up in answer?
And if I do, would you say any more than
“Eeeyah, that’s such a pity SD”
I’m alone in a room, everything is so disorder-ly
There’s something creeping in the shadows
It’s stretches gnarled fingers and I must get out!
So I stumble in flight to a flight of stairs
In delight, I clamber!
But denouement of my mind, the staircase twirls back down into pitch darkness!
I must not get out!
I am the room, the darkness is me.
My bones, my sinews my veins are the bars of my own cell
My red blood cells stain my eyes and I cannot see, you see!
You see you say to me
“The sky is your limit,” but I cannot see that far!
I am the room, the darkness is me!
Me so anxious
Me so disorder-ly
Me my captor, me my prisoner
Me my captor,
Me my prisoner;
So when you say to me “SD love yourself” that’s just the Stockholm Syndrome!
I want my life back,
But the only way out is to pay with my life!
I am the substance of my own abuse… or is that you abusing me?
You who put people in pigeon holes;
Boys in brackets and girls in ‘the other room’ for another groom
Hoping they obey your rules and guidelines and orders
This order and that order and when I don’t fit into those orders you talk about my disorder!
You are the one Compulsively obsessed with order!
The next time you pretend to be my friend but bend
Behind my back with jeers and cheers and stares
You are the one who is bi-polar!
So the next time you ask me
“Hey SD, How are you, SD?”
Will you really mean it?
Can I open up to you?
And if I do, will you say any more than just;
“Eyaaahh, that’s such a PTSD”