Autograph

The nurse handed over the clipboard and pen,

pointing to the X at the bottom of the stack.

I haven't felt like myself since I don't know when,

but I gave her the loops and I didn't look back.

It’s a practiced motion, a sharp, jagged fence

of letters that used to mean something quite real.

Now it’s just ink, and it makes very little sense,

a stylized version of how I should feel.

The tail of the 'y' is too long and too thin,

slashing the page like a warning or a gate.

I’m signing for a life that I’m currently in,

performing the person they expect me to rate.