Interrogation Room

Interrogation Room pic

Ever feel like you’re being watched? Not in a creepy way, but as if someone or some people make their assumptions about you based on observation;  faulty observations. It’s like – hence the title of this post – not making use of an interrogation room for its intended purpose. Instead of being questioned, the overseers utilize the room for a psych evaluation. But what you see isn’t necessarily what you get.

Even though I profess to hate poetry (*gasp* – I’m an English major, this simply shouldn’t be!), I like to dabble in attempting to write my own.  Some of these lines ran through my head while I was sitting in a church service, and this is what I came up with…so here’s “Interrogate.”


They are on the outside looking in

Whisper an array of words and theories

Which could not be more wrong again.

This time I stand silent and patient

No longer do I strike the glass

Window in the room of my interrogation.

She haunts me, my own reflection

Along with your cold stares from

Within, as I try to deflect them

With less success than in the past.

Your judgment consumes the questions

You never thought to ask.

The weight on my shoulders bears

The world and every soundless sleep.

A single light bulb, a lonely chair,

Tempers flare and tensions rise.

They attribute my condition to

Another insomniatic night.

The bulb flickers, another day passed

I rise, eager to leave this room as

Each time seems longer than last.

He knows my name well, the warden

Who holds me here; my name has been

Etched on the wall of my cell.

With immediacy I transition from ice to fire

You don’t see, you don’t understand

When you need only inquire.

Hot and cold, but perfectly sane

You tell me I’m harder to predict

Than a runaway train.

With tact you observe but fail to see

The answers lie beyond your window,

They have always lived with me.

A fact that has not occurred to any of

My observers, for no questions are asked

Inside my interrogation room.


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