I have become a part of this place.
An unwilling resident nestled within these white walls.
This carpet blemished with stains from past inmates is
My solid ground.
I have learned that the water drains slowly and I have learned that
The faint whistling piercing the night air is a comfort and
Not a threat, but I have not
Learned how to be alone here.

The dying plants in this place remind me of my incapability’s and the
Posters on the walls remind me of my great need for acceptance. The ticking of
The clock is a persistent voice quietly whispering.
Turn up the music.
Turn on the TV.
Make a phone call.
You don’t like to hear yourself cry.

One day I will find more plants and more posters.
One day I will fix that slow drain and cover those spots on the carpet.
But I won’t worry about that whistling sound at night.