Why Eddie McGuire should be put into a psych ward

The coloniser’s farts have

Odours that smell better,

Much better, because they’re…

Well, people are used

To what colonisers say and can

Stomach making sense of that gas,

Apparently, that’s why they’re

Listened to and given power.

Rip straight into them, those

Bastards who took and are

Still taking what is not rightly

Theirs to have –  the public’s esteem.

Shred them, make them gone,

Speak of how things should be

And get the population to recognise

How wrong it is to defend

The verbal abuse that puts

A gun to the face of victims

Of genocide, excused through

Phrenology, eugenics, psychiatry,

‘Public welfare’, ‘safety’ and ‘care’…

Strip the act where fighting back

Has been turned into a crime,

Where trying to verbalise this

Has been turned into ‘mental illness.’

What do you do when you

Can’t win the public esteem

Because those in authority

Say that you don’t make

As much sense as the good

Farts of your abusers?

And you hear them,

Those threats verbalised

Again and again in a sneer

Of indifference and clicky logic,

Marginalising and marginalising…

Anger is held in with a sigh,

Hope is lost of being given a turn

Of having a position like that,

To say what needs to be said,

As the indefensible is excused

While your job and contribution

Is seen as only existing though

The goodness of fat charity

That will place its mushy-pea plate

On you when you hope

To get a newspaper article

Written about the insightful

Work you do, that is not

Recognised because, because

Of the wonderful farts

That the coloniser does

To cologne the public

Who apply this odour liberally,

Defending themselves when

The stench gives a passer-by

An asthma attack, defending

Defending their wrongs,

Puffing up their chests and beating

Out their coloniser’s song –

‘Me, me, me, look at me,

Mine, mine, mine!

You go and mine for me!’

Think of yourself as the ball

Being kicked while others

Are having a ball at your expense,

But no, no one’s scrabbling for you,

Your existence is an abstraction,

The ball is the focus,

You’re not a coloniser’s cologne

So you’re just nonsense – that illogic.

Rip, rip straight into them, those

Bastards who took and are

Still taking what is not rightly

Theirs to have –  the public’s esteem.

Shred them, make them gone.

Threaten them with

What your government

Threatens you with;

Torture has been made legal so easily.

Make them fear for their lives

Like they have made you fear.

Make their gun in your face

Backfire and put people like

Eddie McGuire in the psych ward.

Tell him he’s the malfunction,

That he ‘doesn’t have the capacity to work’,

That people are ‘not interested in his story’,

That he should’ve been aborted,

That he must not have children,

That he can’t use heavy machinery,

That he needs to be tranquilised

And made manageable,

That everything he says is wrong

And he’s incapable of making informed consent,

That he doesn’t have to vote,

That he must comply with being

Subject matter for psychiatric research,

Must, must comply… or treatment gets worse.
Fair's fair, so let him be
'Cared' for properly, that poor, poor man
And his pomp of followers
Who can't help but fart out abuse.
He is a danger to himself and others
When he is running loose.