My first roommate in the adolescent unit
had most growing on her arms and spots of mold between her toes.
I didn’t realize until months later
that there is nothing beautiful
about that.

We’d walk around with plastic bags around our faces,
slowly suffocating, and supporting each other
while we did.

Sometimes we’d eat
each other’s sadness with dinner,
and share a dessert.
She’d eat the bread,
and I’d get the icing.
But it didn’t occur to me until much later
how unhealthy it is
to ingest someone’s sadness
like it’s your own.

—–

Kaitlyn Crow is a seventeen year old queer poet from Northern Virginia.  She is a survivor of bipolar disorder and has been writing ever since she realized that the words flowed better if she picked up a pen and put them on paper first.