They’re not the same,
They don’t sound the same.
I know they’re strange and shouldn’t be there.
They are not divine like the pastor says.
He says the divine voice is like water rushing over stones,
Like a cool drink under a scorching sun.
These voices murmur softly,
Sometimes they cackle,
Sometimes they rage,
And I don’t know why.
They tell me all my faults,
And then they tell me what to do,
They told me to take the pills,
They still woke up with me.
They made my daddy leave,
He said he couldn’t deal with my episodes.
My poor mother,
She can’t do nothing anymore.
She couldn’t even have babies.
Because I used to cry a lot.
I would cry and cry,
Screaming the walls down for hours and hours,
They’d pray and pray for days and days.
Finally, they got the answer.
They said I was a Queen of the water.
They said my husband was angry I came to earth,
And they told my mother to never let me go near the water.
They said I’d die if I did.
And so, my mother never let me learn to swim.
I didn’t go to the beach at Christmas either.
And they blessed the water I drank,
And told me to eat food without salt.
I told them my husband was appeased,
And wanted my mom to cook me turkey.
I ate all that turkey by myself.
My mother hovering over me.
The voices cackling in glee.
I’m older now.
I still hear the voices.
They’re my family now.
We decide what we want,
What is right and what is not right.
They tell me to be nice to the little kids in the house.
And avoid the adults.
They avoid me too.
The doctor says I am a rare case.
I tell him to call me a lunatic.
He mentions anxiety, manic depression and a mild form of schizophrenia.
He says there is some disorder in there, too.
I laugh and laugh and laugh.
No one else is laughing with me.
We are on the bus.
The bus is on a bridge.
I’m sitting near the door.
The conductor smells like sweat.
Thick, rank and vile.
I want to vomit.
I sit beside two students.
They’re arguing formulas.
Waves, I think.
The one on my far left is smarter.
And my legs start to twitch.
I’m starting to sweat.
My medications are in my bag,
The conductor hits my arm,
My meds fall and roll out into the traffic.
I am empowered.
The voices are screaming.
I am screaming too.
The driver hits the brakes.
I grab the conductor by the neck
He is struggling.
I am stronger.
The people are watching,
They are in shock
And I jump.
The voices hum a discordant tune.
A befitting farewell.
The End.
I felt this one for days afterwards.
P.S. Tis the season to be jolly!
Tra la la la la!
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