I’m just here to tell you
you can get through life with a broken brain
so long as you can daydream
of a time before the shame.
Warm in the arms of a mother that never was,
a father that isn’t yours but could be
if you were born someone other
than his patient.
If you go to hospital you have to play along,
it’s like marching in the band again:
keep in time, take your turn,
don’t improvise. You can not leave until you perform
their music through to the final note.
Never make sense when you write,
keep them guessing: is she mad
or just a failed writer or both?
Your amygdala is out of line.
You can put it all on Instagram but don’t forget
you have to hint at DID to be on trend.
Don’t mention that you’re borderline
unless your scars are wild.
No one likes a sad sack, neediness is not in vogue,
so dry those tears and dress your words in opposition,
“You think you know me?” That’s a useful line.
“I’ve seen it all. I like the voices in my head.”
You have to make them think
the darkness is your friend.
Disown your body, forget yourself,
cry a bit then go to bed.