What’s in a label,
That keeps me unstable,
To rot on the shelf like some pie,
My package is torn,
And the contents forlorn,
My best before date is a lie.
The nutrition table,
That’s part of my label,
Bodes high on the anger and rage,
The edges are ripped,
Where my sanity slipped,
And the world began burning my page.
Ingredients listed,
Preservatives twisted,
Each serving a lithium dose,
With antipsychotic,
And thoughts so hypnotic,
They whisper my struggles verbose.
Emotions forsaken,
Where childhood was taken,
And never once given a glance,
The poison in motion,
Was part of the potion,
That ruined my label’s romance.
A sensitive label,
Was always a fable,
A fairytale fractured in thirds,
My breadth of excuses,
Are trapped in abuses,
Which battle alone in my words.
So what’s in a label,
That keeps me unstable,
My breakage so left on the shelf,
With use by past due,
Am I pickled in stew,
Or are labels just labels, not self.
© The Complicated Bunny – 17 Nov 2021
The Complicated Bunny 