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He’s not very jolly

 

He’s not very jolly

 

My social worker’s the gentle devil

Seeking to normalize me, nominalise me

With her beautiful terrifying silence

Her bourgeois echo of non understanding

I write sonnets to her

She observes & shares nothing inward

I model my captor

Putting me into sane acting mode

Observing me for report after report

I'm like a rat in a laboratory

But she doesn’t bloody HELP me

I can’t fuck

I wanna fuck my mind

I’m under fire

Full moon

& a divorce

& I cannot meet my rent

I will starve once I’ve run out of life savings

I’m poor & schizophrenic 

I’m sick with codes of conduct

What is the right way

To conduct yourself

When you’re out of control

So people will help you?!

I’m sick of being observed

Foucault’s Panopticon

Countless misery

Reports being written

When all that is needed 

Is food, shelter & some autonomy

To feel what I feel

& think what I think

Is that too much to ask

From an insane society?

Everyone at everyone’s throats

Starvation & bombs

& you here with your affluence

& leisure

Pretending in word

A pleasant hobby

I am dying of poverty

& all you’re thinking is

I don’t like this guy

He’s not very jolly

 

 

Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2024.

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