Doctors, Yes…no…, Journal, Testify, Maybe

Doctors

Why are doctors’

rooms white

for healing and purity and trust

when their diagnose is black?

When do the figures

Draped in their sterile white coats

bring joy?

Triumphs like

You won the lottery

You can have a puppy

You are the healthiest person in America

No

Those words never pass their

Sour, puckered lips

Only horrors like

You need a shot

You have cancer

You are pregnant with your rapist’s baby

By the way, have a lollipop on your way out!

Gee, thanks…

Yes…No…

Taking apart a flower

Petal by Petal

Playing that game

he loves me

he loves me not

he loves me…

Instead,

I keep it…

I don’t keep it…

I keep it…

I don’t keep it

The last petal

I take another flower

Journal

Dear Diary,

Writing isn’t going to change

The way people look at me

The way I feel every time

It kicks

And, I know It wants to live

But, I want to live too

Testify

I am sworn in and I breath

In and out

Answering the questions

I pour the details of my soul

Into the ears of all who will listen

Penetrating as he penetrated me

Invading their thoughts

as he had invaded my body

Ignoring the “No’s”

And the gavel slamming

And the protests

I kept going

I kept invading

Until everyone in that room

Even he

Knew what it was like to be

Forced

Ignored

Broken

Maybe

I start trusting again

When the verdict is guilty

I start believing in miracles

When I hold her-the only thing he gave me

I start looking forward to the future

When she smiles

Living for a new day

Leaving the yesterdays

Finding the tomorrows

Hoping

Loving

Living

With the maybe,

No-the

Yes

Yes

Yes

Yes!

One day, soon,

I

Will

Smile


Victoria Testa, Age 17, Grade 11, Fiorello H Laguardia High School of Music, Silver Key

This entry was written by NYC Scholastic Awards and published on October 14, 2013 at 4:00 pm. It’s filed under Poetry, Writing. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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