After the emergency room they move you upstairs
once they know you won’t die right away,
it’s always just better that way,
It’s 3am and the ambulance is still bringing guests in
well, tonight the place is booked like a five star hotel
I wish for once it was like a shanty run down motel.
The nurse just came in and informed us
we will be stuck with a curtain as a door
And old blood stains upon the floor
His Gurney was wet,
he was uncomfortable,
but the least of his worries was this small detail.
Dirt and blood stained the pristine white sheets
but soon to be gone
when the new bed could be retrieved.
Even the bed was one of their last.
Where is our ticket home you might ask?
Well, it comes with an x-ray at nine am.
Nine am is when we shall see
exactly how terrible the two holes in his lungs actually might be.
Nine am is when we shall see
exactly if he might need surgery on his wrecked right knee.
the nurse asks on a scale of one to ten,
but I believe the sale is unfitting
by my calculations, where I’m sitting-
11 for the broken leg,
5 at least for the broken rib
3 apiece for the two holes in the lungs
my addition is sound,
and to me,
22 it looks to be around.
This is a poem I’ve been working on for some time about my brother’s stay in the emergency room early this august. I sat by his side through the night in fear about his situation which magnified my frustration at the circumstances.
Months ago, I had ripped my broken heart from my soul and put it in a shoe box. Well, this is just a metaphor and I wish it was a little different. I would tell you I took my feelings of love, turned them into a sparkly butterfly, and set it free in a meadow, but that would be a bunch BS. Pretty, but BS all the same. It wasn’t the easiest break off to say the least. My slow stumble of regret/sadness had turned into a walk of embarrassment/letting go and then finally back into a normal happy go lucky jog. It takes effort to just move on, but it eventually does happen.
My story in life has taken many routes and I want to share with people the disaster, hope, love, and comedy of it all. I still have plenty to share with many surprises to come 🙂
Tap. Tap. Tap.
She looks at me and waits
If I leave will I find you again?
I know it’s just to the back of the store
What if I can’t find you?
I can’t do today
So many people, so many strangers
“Go get the milk” she said
God, I’m 21 and I’m broken
What is wrong with me?
Why does my brain have to be broken today?
Yesterday I shopped just fine by myself!
One step, two steps, three seconds of holding
Time is slowing and speeding up
People are blurring. Am I drunk?
Why can’t I breathe? It’s just 1% milk…
I found some old notes from a year ago and decided to write this. You can’t choose when or where you might have a melt down when you have P.T.S.D and I feel like this is a good example for people who want to understand what could happen to someone who looks completely fine and healthy on the outside, but waging a war on the inside.
Nobody knew I had a problem except my family. Sometimes it’s hard having a fear inside you that only shows up sometimes. It’s like if you didn’t have a fear of spiders for most of the year, but during the year of September you had nightmares about them and every time you saw one it made you shiver and want to run.