Victoria Laboz
Straightjacket Love
Strapped in my straightjacket,
I was forced to love myself.
One bandage tried to patch
me whole again and heal the
animosities between my parts.
Exhaling my soul in small
doses, I sealed every cloud
in the terrariums of my airtight
prescription bottles and tried
to cultivate my suffocating
self. I had a dream that night
that I was swimming in a pool
brimming with cotton candy
colored pills, people were
sweating lithium and Prozac
and Zyprexa tablets. My
world was shaded in the same
ghastly transparent orange as
my prescription containers.
The next night, I went to a
carnival from where my head
is still spinning on the merry-
go-round of monotone moods.
I won the game where I had to
squirt cyanide into the clown’s
mouth until he died, and all I
got was a stupid pillbox to
repress my life in. Sleeping in
my mind-spun cocoon, I woke
up to find that my skin was
canvas. My belt tightened a
notch, forcing me to hug
myself harder, to hate myself
deeper.