Sometimes I am trapped inside my skin.
My muscles shrink and expand,
Without me having a saying in the matter.
My eyes close and for a minute or two
I am blind.
A serpent tied to an electric chair.
But inside, I am singing lullabies.
I tell myself stories.
I remind the inner me that I am alive,
Well, in my very own, particular way.
And I’m hearing everything,
Aware of it all, in spite
Of my convulsing body,
My rolling eyes, my twisting tongue,
And my funny snores.
In the middle of the storm.
I am more than a condition,
A mental health code.
I am the shaking, sleeping, confused
Woman, who apparently
Cannot control herself.
But inside I am floating on a lake,
Looking at my own sunset,
Knowing it will well, somehow.
I will be well.