White Walls

Do you know that feeling?

That terrible, awful feeling when you wake up and

Panic because you have no clue where you are?

Do you know what it’s like to wake up like that everyday for 10 days straight?

White walls.

Yeah, my walls are cream but they have character. They have dents and dings and pictures and life.

These walls don’t. They’re boring, and they just surround you, whispering that

You’re a freak, a madman.

But maybe you are.

I mean, you’re here aren’t you? Surrounded by white walls and

Penciled on eyebrows.

Yes Peggy, we know your secret.

But she knows yours. She knows what you did, why you did it. And she’s judging you,

Cataloging you in her brain as one of “those.”

But it was never really a secret.

Not really.

You came in, scared, eyes wider than plates, told yourself you’d keep to yourself.

But you didn’t listen, stupid girl. Why would you have?

You’re an adult now. You can vote, and drive seven people, and stay out past curfew.

But you can be arrested, and sent to places like this, where your only company is your thoughts and the

Walls that surround you.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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