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By Lillibit Ray

Two doors automatically close,

and lock behind me.

I stand inside a narrow hallway,

surrounded by so much white

it blurs together,

White floor, white walls, white uniforms,

white lies in the attempt

to create some form of comfort.

Seventy-two hours in a psych ward

with seventy-one left to go

for our rejected minds

to ponder our circumstance.

We know who we are

while so few others do.

I see a woman’s spirit

gently float to the ceiling,

dissociated from the beaten body

that has enclosed the broken specter

that she has become.

She lifts off from sukhasana

leaving her memories behind

to at once feel free,

and she summons the spirits

of the rest of us shut inside here,

and we dance on the white ceiling with her,

transcending a world of being misunderstood

to commune in a shared reality.


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