I love you, no, I don’t, not really.

You get this situation;

People behaving one way

And talking another

Or

Vice versa.

I care

But,

Not really;

In fact,

I’d prefer it if you and your condition

or

Problem

Weren’t sitting before me.

The scene

Would be prettier,

More attractive,

Balanced, symmetrical.

Your if-ness

Just upsets

The calm.

I see it all the time in patients;

Obey the pathway,

Follow the pre-conceived,

planned and circumscribed route

and all are happy.

Express an opinion,

disagree,

opt out (or in)

and

the flow (Force) is disturbed (perturbed).

Heaven forbid, the system should have to adapt

Or somehow accommodate your strangeness.

You fall;

We don’t do falls.

Your heart is irregular,

We only do hearts

That beat with regularity;

You are too

Small/tall/thin/fat/old/young

Your skin is too sensitive,

Our beds don’t suit your build

Or shape.

This dullard says A, B or C

And this other

nonentity agrees

and

you are left in limbo.

Suspended in nothingness.

They say that mental and physical health

are like

motor engines;

One diesel,

The other

Petrol

And ne’er the twain shall meet.

Mix a little of one with another and

Your V8 gives-out.

How this evolutionary fluke

happened, I don’t know.

Likely

At some point in the narrative,

Person A,

Just before they dreamed-up fascism

Or hegemony

Or, master-slave,

Considered that there are two healths. (aka before Martin Luther).

Mental and physical.

One is OK – that is physical;

My heart is broken,

My ague,

flu,

fracture.

And, the other,

Mental.

My spirit is out of sorts,

My sense of self

Has bypassed this world;

My miasma is shrivelled,

My sense of

Paranoia

outgrown

The immediacy of my preoccupations.

And this, inferior.

Lesser;

Demoted to the realms of

the

Devil,

accursed,

Job

raving in a corner,

Methuselah staring at an irregularity on the wall.

And,

From this sense of inferiority

grows

an under-filled ego,

avec,

Overcompensation;

I drive a Porsche

To demonstrate

That my problems

Are less than yours.

My Tesla might get me from A to B,

But your Mondeo is rubbish.

And so,

The battle is on.

The peaceable,

Fun-loving saprophytes,

The old

And forgotten

And regretful

All check the minutes

Until the end of the day.

I say one thing and do another.

I care.

I do.

I love you,

I don’t.

 

zebra-with-art-in-mind-the-foxes-copy.jpg

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