During manic highs you might get into trouble.
All right let’s go.
We drove to the hospital
I told him the cuffs could be tighter.
The camera came out
I wasn’t a convict
Badass jaily with an emotionless face
I smile at the camera
I wasn’t going to be on mugshots.com
Looking like a convict.
POEM: WHERE’D THE TIME GO?
The flash burns my eyes.
How will I get my contacts out tonight?
My bare feet don’t cry at the tiles
Yet the smell sinks beneath my nails.
Old muck coats the skin.
I lie on the steel bench
And rest my head on the toilet paper roll
I don’t fit on the deck.
I’ll just sleep.
I sit up.
The clock reads 12 pm.
Shit, what about work.
Where’d the time go?
POEM: JAIL TIME
I rolled my wrists left to right
Feeling the cuffs
Searing my skin
The bruises tomorrow make me smile
No honest look in the eye.
Too better than me.
Did I say you could walk over there?
I take joy in bowing down as
It rises forth
It which cannot be described
I am no longer I.
I want out.
(I was born and raised in Los Angeles, CA; a car driven city. Send this to a friend that lives in a city without public transportation, or thinks they can’t afford a cab.) If you notice,my manic confidence loses itself, when I realize I am not above the law, “I want out.”)
Hands with handcuffs image available from Shutterstock.
Loberg, E. (2013). Poem: Mugshots.com. Psych Central. Retrieved on November 24, 2017, from https://blogs.psychcentral.com/manic-depression/2013/08/22/poem-mugshots-com/