October 14, 2012

Turn the page (freewriting)

Turn the page
And it's covered up with a white sheet.
Dont read between the lines that exist but are never represented
that are seen but never documented.  Lines like scars
that trace the boundaries between what we will and will not remember.
I want to draw a curvy landscape and a rectangular city
but I trace my little foot and the line from the bus stop
to my therapist's office.

Over the rainbow isn't that much different.
They just don't pretend as much and leave their corpses
out to rot in the sun instead of deep in the bracken.

I told my therapist when I was 22.  It was ongoing.  I took the bus buzzing with pain and hope.  He would tell the police.  I would be listened to, I would be cared for.  He called me delusional.

I told a man at the hospital he wasn't involved in all that so much I thought he might be a good man.  He told me there was nothing he could do, that trying to stop it would makes things worse for me.  He said he helped a lot of people and asked why I would want to threaten that.