Monthly Archives: November 2016


Dear Doctor,

Help me, check my brain perhaps, it could be i am sick
It feels like something’s going on
But i just don’t know what it is

When the place is noisy, voices everywhere
Is everyone just talkative
Or is it in my head?

When people claim to say one thing, and actually mean the other,
Are they perhaps dishonest
Or it’s me distorting things?

All these people seem so strange, doing things i can’t explain
But then i stop to wonder,
Why aren’t i joining in?

It bugs me when for simple things, they give such complex names
It could be they’re just silly
Or i’m not smart like them

I thought i had me common sense, but slowly i do feel
That everyone’s in on something
And i’m the imbecile

You see, you see dear Doctor, my mind tells me i’m fine
But every day i question
These experiences of mine

Doctor, tell me what is wrong, i feel like such a misfit
Is everyone around me crazy,
Or could it just be me?



Don’t you think that I’m a good person.

You may have seen me walking with my rosary in hand, or reading something, or dressed a certain way.

But you don’t know where I came from and what I did, nor where I’m going and what I’ll do.

Don’t you think I’m a-

In fact, don’t you think of me at all.



I used to be your best friend

You’d wait eagerly at the door a half hour before I got home

Hearing my footsteps was enough to brighten your mood

And when I swept you up in a hug I could feel the warmth and sincerity of your love

…now you’re all grown up.

You’ve achieved more than I could ever dream of

I guess I’m irrelevant 

I’m sorry I can’t pick you up anymore

And that my conversations with you no longer make your day

You’re still growing up but I seem to have slowed down

I need you to know that I have always, and will always, love you no matter what.

It’s the last and only thing I have to offer

…I hope it’s not too little for you

Please let it not be too little for you 



Paper thin voices at the library

Birdsong at dawn 

Marching in the rain

Weak, frail, but smelling of wisdom and joy

Freshly baked bread

Squeaky new shoes 

Sleeping babies

Stiff, fresh sheets and I just showered

Silent, powerful machinery 

Perfectly cut cubes 

Kittens purring in my lap 

Every little sound crisp and audible

Talking to you till it was too late to sleep

Worn pages crammed with words

Clean, cool and calm;

I know what all these words mean.

They used to make me happy.

I still think about them sometimes 



We sell classy, designer clothing to you so you can hide your dying, neglected bodies whilst looking good. Flabby, sick, clammy, weak; but all everyone will see is expensive, aesthetic and status.

Also being old or ‘disadvantaged’ in some way doesn’t give you an excuse to be rude or mean.