Every Time It Happens
Every time it happens,
I think of Amber Heard.
I'm a narcissist.
A bitch.
And how hard you can be slapped
without a bruise forming.
It's only red.
A slight sting.
Tonight, my left cheek when I took a chance
at normal conversation,
then my arm when I wouldn't agree
That I'm to blame for your choices.
How much pain do you risk to save a life,
when sanity lies at the bottom of a bottle of pills?
One per day.
If only you would.
Yet, madness mistakes my handshake for a punch,
my thank you for fuck you.
My mouth.
The right side of my head (that one hurt).
I call for help,
but they don't see any bruises.
Light blue.
Two days.
Besides the mental ward is full of people
with better insurance and
can you fault a mind on the brink?
How much of my life
am I willing
to spare?
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Author's Note
Like many Americans, I followed the U.S. defamation trial between Amber Heard and Johnny Depp. It seemed as though there was a lot of discrepancy in Heard's testimony, but then I imagined an unrelated scenario like this. Fictional poem, a work-in-progress.
Other stories by Jennifer Donnell
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It's hard to imagine living like this, but your poem depicts it clearly. So many people are depressed now.