Poetry

You sit me on a chair that hurts
In a classroom full of noise and light
You put a pen in my wrong hand
And tell me that I have to write

You speak in terms that don't make sense
You write in symbols I can't see
You talk to everyone at once
You talk to everyone but me

The established religion
is
this:

Royals
bring gifts to baby
born in poverty

Now those
born in poverty
bring gifts to baby
Royals

This
is
the established religion

Widening roads
parking lorries
carrying loads
of no-deal worries

Laying Tarmac
digging ditches
making car parks
burning bridges

Office holder
riding high on 
a hard Brexit shoulder
to pull over and cry on

Sailing boats away
laying mines
widening motorways
narrowing minds

Neurotypicals
Seem odd because they can't see
The trees for the wood

I saw a poster the other day
that said it's OK
to not be OK

I was sitting in a waiting room
while others sit
or just exist
on a waiting list
for months or years
Worsening trauma, growing fears
Not serious enough to jump the queue
or get what's good for you
Bide your time
stand in line
wait your turn
And as you wait, maybe you'll learn
to be more resilient
that would be brilliant
Parity of esteem?
in your dreams
The stuff of inspriation memes
Buzz words
fuzz words
nothing does words
Set targets
trust the market
It will decide
and it will provide
for those who pay