for the questions

I wear my disappointment in a locket around my neck, between my breasts too close to my heart. I am growing tired of referring to ‘I’ with scientific explanations.


I have chosen to not to be labelled with this and yet I find myself accessorised and being dressed with this ‘condition’. I try to rebel, as though I am playing a game- my role is the warden. So strong in appearance, protecting and unemotional, until I realise I am breaking the rules set for me by medical jargon- and my role truly fictional.

Everybody has their own right to ‘think, do or feel’ is what I am told. I wish this to be stripped from the book, and to be handed a blank journal- in which I will write as though this doesn’t exist.


When questioned by those whose opinion matters, I withdraw as though my ‘secret’ could sentence me to life imprisonment. I feel guilt for not wanting to display the momentary lapses, even though they can be seen in my eyes- smothered by my smiles or my ability to change the subject.


Now however as my blood runs clean and my thoughts are not packed into separate compartments- I want you to see just how far this goes, and how it suddenly ends with no refunds, no repercussions and no explanations.
Seconds of weakness amount to hours of questions, my interrogations never really end, thus i generally choose to keep this where i know it cannot be taken and opened- in a locket, around my neck, close to my heart.