You weren’t crazy,
but there you were
in the white room
with black curtains,
strapped down
to a tilted table.

They didn’t know
how to deal with you,
and your angry assertions
that you shouldn’t be there
only made you seem crazier
to doctors who’d seen it all.

You learned to keep
the anger welled up
as a lumbering rhythm
in your overwrought heart,
always ready to explode.

That’s the state I met you in.

-GD Butler

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