Bungalow

A poem by Millie​               15.10.21 (Incident day).

I need more help, I've become insecure about myself. I've been lying in my bed, waiting for my health. My health has been dropping low, so has my sorrow. I've just wanted to be like a Bungalow.

No extra stories, no growing up. I just wish I could perk up. I've been depressed all day long, but yet I sing this song. Why is my life growing so long? I can't grow up, it's a fear, it's a scare. I know this thought isn't rare.

I just want my life to stay the same as it is, but the thing is... Where the hell is my therapist?! CAMHS, I'M LOOKING AT YOU.

Bungalow, Bungalow. No extra stories. Childhood the same. No puberty or worries.

What happened is not there, there is no other next. I do not know what you mean by regrets...?

Bungalow Bungalow. No extra stories. Nothing left of depression or fury. Happy little dreams that creep into your sleep. Queens and kings, no puberty.  Playing pretend because I am not angry.

Bungalow, Bungalow. Staying Below. Nothing will change. no no no.

Camhs spat in my face, made me feel like a disgrace. They said

"Counselors and therapists, what's the difference?"

Stuck with a counselor. Oh, oh, oh.

What's wrong with that, oh my Bungalow.

Staying below. Never reaching the higher floors. I am the one living as a floorboard. Young and bright, covered in light. The light starts to fade when the foot comes my way.

Shadows invade. I am the prey. Oh my Bungalow. What just raided my place of safety?

Change, No no no. I am staying below.  Stop trying to push me to the higher floors. I am the floorboard...

Bungalow, Bungalow. No extra stories... No growing up, no worries. I'm not ready to grow up. Please, Mental health must seize.