A Beautiful Mind

He DM'd me privately - you're not crazy, like you say you are.

Another way of telling me to shut up.

I'm definitely not defending myself, but hey.

I'm still grieving, another way of saying I like writing.

One time in the hospital a five year old girl

told her father she saw ghosts, and he begged

her to stop. Please, darling, he pleaded.

There's nothing there. It's all monsters in your head.

I'd argue that they're there.

I'd be willing to bet she saw something like justice

that they got to live beyond our little minds,

ghosts that survived the meaningless game of life.

I never heard her voice. I only heard the pleading,

the endless refrain, the father begging when his daughter's

fate was clearly outlined in a pediatric psychiatrist's handwriting.

I never saw her face. I just know she wasn't afraid.

I never responded to his DM.

I don't see things that aren't there, but I sure as hell

have some self-respect, and a history of knowing little girls

who are god knows where right now.

A beautiful mind gone wrong.

I hope she's still here, somewhere, still believing

herself and not the refrain of the mentally sound.