There are arching toes
And people who say that anything goes
And if my poetry is deflagrate
Could someone tell me how another state
Is possible
The path does not seem crossable
As it winds and turns
And people’s edicts burn
Am I bound to their vision of me
The life, the wife and the fucking money
And I can’t claim innocence complete
Because I used the heat
To get myself out of their grasp
And my body bears the scars of the clasp
I locked myself into
A season of the glinting blue
And I look at him through the screen
From the place I was and I want to scream
Because he’s still with her
And they’re standing by the water
Looking out into the sea
And I just wish that ocean was me
That he stares at and sighs
But he just grimaces and replies
That all is not as it’s supposed to be
And he could never make the coast out of me
Not in the place where I was
And I’m in the bay because
They decided I was crazy
And everything’s a little hazy
And clinicised
As they fill you with the lies
That you’re “unwell”
I ignore them and they can go to hell
With all their clipboard notes
They’re not people that I’d ever quote
In a future version of myself
Talking down my mental health
As I sit so zen
Listening to Adyashanti again
In that room at the end of the corridor
Til Leanne knocks on the door
With a junior doctor in tow
And they tell me what they think they know
About how I am
I say, I don’t think you understand
But they think they do
So I let them be what they want to
Someone playing nurse to an unwilling actress
Someone making me laugh when I’m lying on the mattress
Because it’s so fucking funny, it’s hilarious
And there’s nothing I want to discuss
As I say “To Kill A Mockingbird” is my favourite book
And Laura (the doctor) meets me with a knowing look
As if that explains it all
Why I am standing in the hall
Looking for someone I can call
To get me the fuck outta here
But your presence means something, dear
So I concede to stay
But the rebel in me still gets in their way
When they want to make a diagnosis
Because I am ferocious
And not a willing “service user”
I am a peruser
Of the book of life
And I will never be your knife
To cut into the cake
So you can call me a real fake
In the parlour of the sky
I never wanted to die
I just agreed that if it was my fate
I would let God write upon that blank slate
And take me to where he’d want me to be
Now I’m looking at Motaz’s story
About what’s happening in Gaza
As if that could stop the burning of Mufasa
As he lies in the garden
And falls from the place where Elizabeth Arden
Had held him so high
Lord, let my life be for something in the grand lie
That everyone is told
Maya will be brave, Maya will be bold
And as I watch it all unfold
I’m powerless to stop
The rotary turn of everything that I’m not
Neti, neti in disguise
I watch the child as her spirit flies
Into the grand expanse
A place where she is free to dance
With out the sound of drones
And a world that left her all alone
Except for the brave souls that went to her door
Gunned down again, mo stór
There are many forms of occupation
And I’ve learned to let go of my education
As it sought to encroach on me
And mould me into a version of who I should be
So I could be compliant, as the lady says
But I’m self reliant so I’m shady instead
And resigned as I lie in my bed
Is this how Ireland felt when the heroes fled?