Sunday, April 6, 2014

Paint jobs

I would love one day to see,

A psychiatric hospital

Painted up

As nicely

On the anniversary

Of the British invasion.


My body feels the attacks,

The utter fear of being

Knocked down, in such pain,

Unable to communicate

Or stay awake.

The memory locks me

Like an animal on a road

With headlights in its eyes.

I wait for such validation,

But who would do such a dare?


For psych survivors,
The fear is too great,

Of being locked up and tortured,

Without a habeas corpus.

We keep within the law

And still get done in.

So, how much worse would it be

If we did some graffiti?

We’d be too easy

For the labs to target

As a perpetual animal for their profits

Painted up as ‘unruly’ and ‘sick’

Needing to be ‘managed’,

White-gaffa on our mouths,

Ropes around our internal organs,

To keep our emotions numb,

Our thoughts quiet and scared.

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