.005
It is seven a.m. Everyone to
The Nurses’ Station for vitals.
‘What the hell are vitals?’ is
The only thought to penetrate
My sleep deprived brain.
Nevertheless, I hauled myself
Out of bed and down to the
Nurses’ Station, the desk where
I had checked into the Psych
Ward three hours prior.
Good morning, Charlotte. Roll up
Your sleeve please.
“Charlie,” I corrected. A blood
Pressure cuff was placed around
My bicep and a thermometer under
My tongue. Other teenagers began
Filing out of their rooms, groggily
Stumbling over to the Nurses’
Station. A boy younger than I
And an older girl smiled at me.
Welcome to the Psych Ward!
Alright, Charlie. Your vitals look
Good. Here are your meds.
I swallowed them dry and
Meandered back to my room,
Trying to figure out where
I had seen the younger blonde
Boy before.
Breakfast is now being served in
The Dining Room, breakfast is now
Being served in the Dining Room.
YOU ARE READING
Welcome to the Psych Ward
PoetryThis is a story. It is not fiction. It is not written to elicit sympathy, only to shed light upon this misunderstood topic. It is written poetry-style and is not exaggerated in any way.
