Padded Room Psalm
DON’T TOUCH ME!
Nehemiah screamed at the tap on his shoulder.
Like a trap sprung — my tooth flung.
Hit in the face, full of disgrace.
Stars swirled; I hurled lament.
No content — just suffering in the mental hospital.
Bent to pick up life — Rivera’s uppercut to the head.
Full of hate. I bled.
Maxon threatened my life on the line.
Voices rumbled; my soul tumbled.
No peace in Central State.
No peace in my mental state.
My cry strode as I corroded in the padded room.
“You’re a threat — you must be unmet.”
Lying there, surrounded by fear:
A boy in the corner, on the floor, in the natal
Position now, voices ringing the crown.
My only retreat — the waters of the tub.
As I scrubbed my trauma, naked and bare,
I lay there hiding from the chaos.