and like blind privileged gladiators –
they fight for a cause
but it is a cause that does not exist

you are a rag and bone man
a saviour of sorts
you are the lucky dip
that your parents once bought

it is in my bloodstream
life vibrancy
it ricochets around my life
but crowds feel like a collection of surgeons

i know now that every bump in the road
is a cry for help
and every breakdown
was due to a faulty belt

it’s the difficulty of accepting –
that,
it is the way it is
and what about me?

the happy go lucky sort –
talk about building resilience
i just think of trauma
and the weights added to my conscience

and does anxiety –
take away everything you wear?
your cupboards are unlocked –
but nutritionally bare

it is easier for others to seek blame
and to blame others
in turn, othering –
is just tagging another

maybe something-
occurred when i was born
was my ambilocal cord –
ripped or torn?