I heard about a competition for poetry addressing the issues surrounding mental health here for which our own Megha Sood is a finalist. Those who know me even vaguely would appreciate that I am not foreign to these issues, and take them very seriously, but also that I don’t think anything should be taken too seriously, all the time.
So whilst what follows might be a bit tongue in cheek, and a bit cheap, and a bit trite, I hope you find it not entirely so. My own mental health, at the moment, seems to limit me to about 5 minutes of cohesive thought at a time. So this is my 5 minutes worth.
Obviously I would be too late to enter the competition, but nor would I dare to do so with this. I, more than most, recognise that 5 minutes of scribbling at the kitchen table wins no prizes.
So join me in wishing Megha the very best of luck.
Some days I’m feeling pensive
Some days I’m sort of sad
Some days I’m apprehensive
Though some days I feel glad
Some days are sort of special
But other days are bad
I do my tricks. I get my kicks
But some days I go mad
I’ll admit that I’m impulsive
I can be compulsive too
You find me so repulsive
Because I’m so different to you
But it’s not a point of difference
Just a different point of view
But it’s too late to imitate
So what am I to do?
They found me on the street one night
And they kicked me in the head
They had no right, but I had no fight
So they left me there for dead
I suppose that I had stumbled on
A place I shouldn’t tread
Though way down deep I’m still asleep
I woke up in this bed
So now I’m in a hospital
That treats insanity
Where they tell me that they have this plan
Of understanding me
They’re pointing down a tunnel
At a light I cannot see
But they give me lots of tablets
So now I get my kicks for free