A mo’ e-try [in potion]

I tried so hard to understand your game, and in the name of the game

you played

I went along with every

thing you said

and did and played,

and went and lent, and read and wrote and stuffed and

spoke,

and then your clever spanners thrust

their greasy

edges of re

chipped ciggies, and all I ever wanted from anyone

was to be

loved for myself,

not the selves you insisted I was.

 

And if all of this was aimed at making me

come

in like sheepishly led and quite

broken man,

so that doctors could re-examine me, and let me see they’d got

it so wrong, but even so … and

even here … infirmity could still be assigned

me so that

bi-polar lessons would be imposed on me violently … well

… I’ll be

fucking damned if that was your game, because

I am a

human – just like you claimed to

be –

and

I have a right,

and even a duty to the free individual I always wanted to be

of precisely the games you have played with my life – all along the

long resilience I have shown without praise, nor encouragement

nor kindness nor compassion on your part – and so ever

since two thousand and nine

and maybe time before,

you followed my numbers and tracked my behaviours and

this is quite sad, and I am quite

wronged.

 

But now I shall search, in other place than

you, for the love you resisted

me, in other place than you;

in other place than your gorgeous (w)hole we could have

once [stud-

{d}iedly] examined, and then

sold like

enslaving freedoms of vigoured

slavering: the sucking and

soaking and licking and righting of

lonely existences, tolerated just

that time enough to become far

too long, for it was you that did break,

not me who was late:

and so now I do realise

the love you did offer

me was no-

thing

like free

dom nor be

dom

nor happy

dom, but just simple

gone and

dumb, like the me

I have seen.

 

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