Inspired by an article on “Fixing Broken People:”
I’m tired of being your project;
Just because sometimes I cry when people aren’t around,
Or because I scream and yell like a young child,
That doesn’t give you permission to treat me
As if I were a patient:
Waiting to be cured, fixed,
Put back together
So that I’ll work properly again.
Everyone has this idea of what it means
To function in society
(even I carry these perceptions –
And perhaps it’s what makes me my harshest critic,
My own worst enemy)
And everyone judges by these standards
So as soon as you stray from the mould
If you’re just a little derailed
People try to swoop in like Superman.
(and don’t you feminists complain about my illustration here
Because not everything is a stab at our lack of equality
It’s not even a signal of my underlying values that feels men are superior
No, it really is just an illustration
You see, I watched Superman before any other superhero movie).
I don’t need to be babied
Or pitied
Or given any sort of special treatment,
I don’t need to be told – because I already know,
I don’t need you to constantly lay out for me
Action plans to mend my problematic life/
Or ask me how I intend to deal with my issues.
No.
I apologise for my rant
But I believe I’m allowed to be flawed,
And despite these imperfections
I don’t want to be ignored as a person,
Don’t want to be made into an experiment:
‘maybe if we try this you’ll be happy’
And maybe if you accepted me as a work-in-progress –
(Oh, did I just accept to my status as your project?)
I suppose habit breeds familiarity breeds comfort,
And that’s all right
After all.
