Poem: Scrubs Rated:R

[libra_traveller]

This poem saved my grade in my poetry writing class. He was going to originally give me a C, but this and my other revisions convinced him to give me a B+, yay!

Scrubs



I stand here in green scrubs
With a cigarette in my hand
A guard stands to my side
I’m early, any minute now
I’ll be allowed to go outside
And smoke, but I have to wait
For everyone else to get in line
What the fuck are they waiting for?
Sure there are some who stand
Under those oppressive fluorescent
Lights to get their pills and true
There’s the cart full of food
That people might want first
And then there’s the television showing
Mindless movies as some idiot switched
It off the news channel saying it was too
Depressing, that we had enough in here
To be depressed about without watching
People being killed over in Iraq.
Still, I’d rather hear about other’s miseries
Than focus on my own

I’ve only been here five weeks,
But it feels like a lifetime
Going from one room to the next
Back and forth: how are you feeling?
Are you getting along with everyone?
Do your meds make you nauseous? …
Of course they do, it’s the side effects,
But nothing else seemed to work
So they put them in those little white cups
Staring at me until I swallowed them

What do they know? My family I mean,
Who forced me in this nut house where everyone
Has problems, so it’s supposed to be okay
I’m expected to have friends cause everyone
Has similar problems, well I’ll tell you who my
Friend is, she’s in my hand waiting for me to suck
Her down, and release her into the air,
She makes my mind clear,
Something you need when you’re surrounded
By people like that fucker who decides
To play his recorder in the hallway when we’re all tired
And just want to take our meds and go to sleep,
No he’s not as bad as the other creep who
Would stand behind the women, hovering and whispering
Questions and asking if he could follow us
Into our rooms before night out, so he could familiarize
Himself with our personal effects
Yet he’s not even the worse, not like the man
In the med line who actually grabbed my ass
When I was in that crowd with no where to move
No he was the worse mostly because
He was that damn ugly

So yes, I’m a little attached
To my chance to get outside
Away from these people who make my skin itch,
Who smell like hospital shampoo, if we’re lucky
And they actually took a shower that day.
That’s my favorite time of the day when I’m in
That shower, alone with the water
Away from everyone, mostly it’s not even the patients
Or guests that I can’t stand, it’s the people that work there,
Smiling at you, sympathizing with your plight,
As if they could understand what it feels like to lose
Your mind and be betrayed by your family
Who call the police and watch as they handcuff you
And drive you away, saying it’s all for the best.
Then you get here and you get your own room,
With a roommate, that for all you know could be
Crazier than you are and strangle you in your sleep
Paranoia comes with the place; if you don’t got it,
You’re not nuts enough to be here

So back to this cigarette, I only get one tonight
I wasn’t good enough, slept in, didn’t eat breakfast,
Skipped out on goals group but still went to art.
I needed something, and if taking a colored pencil
And drawing a tombstone with my name on it
Was the only thing I could do so be it.
Finally some little Asian girl is in the line with me,
But we need at least five before he’ll let us out that door
Even now I can imagine the birds calling to me
See I don’t just go out there to smoke
I didn’t even used to smoke until my first time
At a place like this, I started going outside where there’s
A little garden and a tree with a birdhouse, and I’d shovel
And plant flowers, well not here
There’s no garden here, just a fence, so damn high
I’d never get over it, but it’s outdoors
I may have never been in a prison so I’ve never had
To live behind bars, but I’m still as trapped as those prisoners,
My life is still regimented to an inch of my sanity,
The most awful truth?
I’m not getting out of here anytime soon

Two more, almost out the door, right about now
The food is getting tempting
Sometimes I wonder what my hunger really is,
Could be for hospital food
Could be for the nicotine, but I figure
It’s really for freedom, because I haven’t had that
In years when my mental health took a dive.
I’m just happy it’s not a holiday,
I hate the childish decorations done by patients
During the art groups.
Even more bleak is the family members
Who come to pretend everything’s normal,
Chatting about random moments while the rest
Of us pretend we’re not lonely when no one decides to visit
At least when it’s an ordinary day I can convince myself
My brothers don’t show because they’re at work or school,
Not that they’re ashamed of me or don’t care

So for now, this is my life, I wake up
I go to breakfast, I sit in the chair by the magazines
I get my blood pressure taken, then stand in line
Pop some pills, and then I have a choice,
I can sit in my room and work on cross puzzles,
Or I can sit around a table, introduce myself again
And say what I plan to do for the day to make myself better,
Because obviously there’s something wrong with me
I speak, I tell the truth, whatever it is that day,
Then I tune out what everyone else has to say
Because frankly I don’t give a shit
Mostly because it’s all too standard,
It’s ‘I’m going to meet with my psychiatrist’,
‘I’m going to talk to my nutritionist and convince him
I don’t have to eat the crap they’re feeding me’,
‘I’m going to rest because I had a bad night’,
Then there’s my favorite one, the mumbler, who says
‘I want to get better so I can get out of this joint’
As if that isn’t everyone’s frickin goal,
As if everyone else wants to be stuck in this shit hole
Where we have limited choices,
Where people decide what we eat,
When we sleep, where we can spend time with other people,
What we do for the day whether it be chair exercises,
Or making masks, or sitting in the library as if I would
Want to read any of the stuff that made it past their guidelines
Of what is allowable for us to read,
Give me a break, we’re not in school
So the books shouldn’t be censored
But they are, and that drives me up the wall
And this place has small white walls

Out the door at last
One last chance to breathe before I’m shut
In again and the cycle starts over
Fresh air mixing with what’s bad for me
Nothing like it and no one
Is going to take it away from me.