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When the State said she needed a home
and would I help her out with her meds
I said yes
though I had some grave doubts
and they never mentioned a life sentence.

When the doctor said she had fetal alcohol
our life was paused to grow grim.
I said wait,
need to check with spouse
and three boys we already claimed to love and protect,
so they never mentioned a life sentence.

When I told the State they should find a better home
that would grow with her aggressive game coming up
they said wait,
we’ll start her again
in another place not prepared for defiance,
for food thrown down,
for breaking hard glass hearts
worn out like empty fragile chairs,
still they never mentioned a life sentence.

So we eventually said yes
and her courage to test that yes
grows astronomically oppressive
while the State closes homes
and residential options
for families like ours
who never signed on for a 24/7/52 week
perennial life sentence.

Now State says no,
no other place for her to go,
so sorry you’re sore and tired and old,
too bad she has no one to talk to all day and night
now that we can hear what she means
to deliver when you signed up for hell
in your mutually dysfunctional life sentence.

So we sure try,
except for her,
who had no choice
about those exotic substances
welcoming her still warm enwombed
with empty therapeutic promises 
throwing a love defiant trauma 
drama party life sentence.

So I still cry,
but not only for her
who had no choice
confined to age in this echoing silo
dancing with demons
signing her up for my unenlightened
disempowering trauma sentence
after sentence
after ruminating sentence...

Like trying to live peacefully
and mindfully
with an under-medicated RightWing narcissist
searching for weapons
in my Other unfree bedroom.

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