The sins of my ancestors become the sins of the now,
When my tongues honed where it could clash with a katana.
But my targets are the ones who pat me on the back,
Naturally the usual response to that is a stab in the back.
He opens up his chest and I’m straight on the defence,
What the fuck does he mean when he says that?
Is he trying to brush my pain aside to make a point?
He says “I mean it’s not like how you go through it.”
The fact he didn’t take a decade to proof read every sentence,
That can only be a slight against me, perfect and precise.
So how about I take my drink and show him 2 fingers,
The most logical course of action to that.
He scratches the record to a screeching halt,
“What the fuck’s the matter?” He intervenes.
I wanna tell him how’s he’s not seeing me,
But who on the earth is seeing me,
If me hasn’t been me for this long,
Are they even me, is me even me anymore?
“I dunno.” As I stall for for some amount of time.
He came to this war with a bouquet and I still grazed him.
That’s the catch 22; I’m not seeing him,
A few Thyroids short and I’m not seeing anyone.
I’m seeing words and phrases that I’m trying to recognise,
Clutching my bug-net looking for the bogeyman.
THERE! I know someone who talked to me like that,
A past abuser from a eon gone by.
You thought that’d one would slip by me?
“What have I done to be suspicious?” He asks.
What you’ve done? Well you’ve done nothing,
But everyone at one point done nothing,
Until they start to do something,
And out of nowhere they’ve done everything.
Burn a bridge on a hunch,
Carjack your heart out on a probably,
I’m so dependant on the kindness of others,
While still backed up against the wall.
When a scratch goes down like decapitation,
You can’t take any chances on that.
Treat my company like a rental,
One wrong move it’s revoked from you.
“How can I be expected to love someone
Whose hand is always circling the eject button?”
Like I dunno man, but what’s the alternative?
Cos I’m getting too old to nurse another wound,
When it’s week 2 chained to my bedroom,
Keeping my psyche together with PV glue,
As yet another chance to succeed is doomed.
Another degree flies on by, another career down the drain,
The hand outs will stop, and I’ll be marking my grave.
– Sebastian Noël (For Mental Health Awareness Week)
Domestic Poetry 