Not Again

Not Again

They want to sedate me-

apparently I’m more ‘relaxed’ that way

and they can manage me better.

Well I don’t like it-

this isn’t me.

Eyelids like lead

arms lose and floppy like one of those flexi ruler things

head might as well be one of those abandoned decapitated baby dolls.

Don’t make me that feather on the bicycle again,

about to be blown away by the smallest gust of wind that feels like a motherfucking gale force wind right now.

And no, not one of those beautiful light ones that twist and turn up to the heavens.

I’m one of those dirty damp ones left in the gutter.

Don’t make me feel like that girl-shaped-feather.

Not again.

by Rosie Rosenberg