Kill yourself echos in my mind daily.
From a voice that is hard to recognize, but must be my own.
That is why I am here upon this robin’s blue bed staring at a wall and writing poetry.
This would not be my first choice of writing locale or subject line.
I long for the sweet smell of my family.
But alas, I am here in this dreary room barely attempting to be cheery.
The main problem I’m having you see is finding anyone to tell what the voice is telling me.
To complicate matters my mother’s tongue did not speak the same words as these nurses speak,
And I am not yet proficient enough to communicate emotions.
So I sit here in this place designed for helping people having thoughts like mine, unable to tell anyone I’m having thoughts like these.
I dont know how they can treat that which they can’t hear. So i worry I will go home with the same thoughts just more.