they left me on a hospital cot against my will,
those doctors. my pleas and
threats only furrowed their eyebrows and
clenched their teeth.
i believe you, says aunt irene.
they think i’m crazy, i reply.
her eyes remain motionless as she smiles
towards me. she kneels beside my cot,
and murmurs a prayer. i close my eyes
to soak up its energy.
i hear her get up. she says, i’ll see you
next tuesday, and leans in to hug me.
aunt irene jumps. she apologizes and says
she forgot. how can you forget when
you’re looking right at me, i ask her.
she pauses. i’ve just learned to see
through the glass. i’m made of out of
carnival glass, so you can’t see
through it, i snap. i remind her that if anyone
touches me, i shatter.
aunt irene sighs. she leaves the hospital
room, gently closing the door behind her.
creative, fun writing exercises (including this one):