prescription bottles
stand at attention
upon the kitchen table
we arm wrestle for control
of my identity
meaningless
that I am the one
who made the call
acknowledging my unraveling
I did not want
mini-pharmacy
growing unrestrained
blue pill to make me tall
red pill to make me small
stagger under weight of
laden words
found
in the psychiatric index
well- meaning shrink
in his trendy suit
sharp thin tie
shaggy Beatles cut
groovy glasses
tells me it does not matter
what we call
my crazy
as long as the pills
do the trick
he is talking
treatment implications
while I picture
strings of letters
carved into my forehead
with a dull knife
labeling my psyche
a Viennese Sorting Hat
with a cigar
declaring my diagnosis loudly
to room of my peers
shouting that neither
the Bipolar ones
nor the Bipolar twos
get to live in
Gryffindor Tower
before asking me
how I really feel
about my father

Image: Floatyman, DeviantArt

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved
Revised © 2019 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved