Strait Jacket

I am not an exceptional human being
for we all wear clothes
Slobbing around in PJ’s when
our tranquilized, minuscule world
is encapsulated
in a space called home
Killer heels when we’re facing the
fucked up world and we remember
who we are, and we straighten
our crowns
Perchance a smidgeon of warpaint
as our battle cries holler into
societal combat
Cherry lips and spider lashes
spun with purest L’Oreal

But I?
I wear a white strait jacket
White as in hospital issue
boiled to death grey
Sanitised and purity leeched
It looks rather smart with
my lithium eyes and my
lunacy smirk
I don’t wear it for ladies’ luncheons
as padded cells are lonesome bistros
And all that cutlery is contraband
And I’m not fucking Houdini

When my couture isn’t a
hospital inspired affair
I am living one
Valium junkie
Lithium chick
Watching the wall for
the clock tock ticks
which govern the drugs
which make me well
But make me sick
Don’t go high, you’ll crash
Don’t go low, you’ll crash
Can anyone tell me
how to score
a gram of sanity?

Does anyone want to
hold my strait jacket for me?
Try it on?
Wear it with me?

©2020 Sarah Drury

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

I Had a Dream

I thought about ending it all
of that sweet release
as I drifted off to sleep
Would it be all devils and pitchforks
and sunstroke in Hell?
Or would it be angels and clouds
and harps and Prozac?

And I had a dream
Like Martin Luther King
Except in mine I was knocking on
the doors of heaven
and they were locked
It said no mentally ill in here
And at first I thought maybe
they hadn’t seen
my clean heart
I had showered today and
that was a start
I didn’t look like a hooker
with my fuck me heels
and ripe cherry pout
So let me in

And I had a dream
like Martin Luther King
that even in my darkest hour
With pills in my palms
and debating the relevance of
my existence
Perceptions of the mentally ill
Would lose their sting of sour
Mental, loony, crackpot, psycho
lunatic, schizo
negative, negative, negative, negative
Tie me in a straight jacket
Lock me in a padded cell
And don’t forget the lithium!

And I had a dream
like Martin Luther king
But the people of colour
were free
and the mentally ill were slaves
And society was a hotbed of prejudice
And they put us in glass cages
And they paid a pound a peek
And they laughed
and they laughed
and they laughed

And I had a dream
Like Martin Luther King
where I knocked on Heaven’s door
and it was closed
Like the job applications
Like the lovers I’d had
Like the aspirations of being
‘normal’
Like my fake faced friends
Like my destiny

And I thought of the one thing
that tethers me to this Earth
And his tiny hand slipped in mine
And his tender heart healed my wounds
And I knew heaven
didn’t need another angel

©2020 Sarah Drury

Same Day, Same Shit

Anxiety
You annoying bastard
You fucked up
half my day again
I know I am swearing
But I’m past fucking caring
How was my day darling?
(I talk to myself
‘cos I’m the only one
who bloody well listens)
And how can I say it
but it was shit again
shit again
Always shit again

Wearing anxiety
like it was some fucking
loser’s pageant crown
But I’m no fancy winner
I’m going down, down, down
I thought I’d ring my nurse
But same old, same old
‘You’re doing fine’
as if a 15lb baby is
working its way
out of my vagina
But I’d rather be knocked up
than screwed up

Pop another pill
Numb another feeling
You’d all get on my last nerve
If I weren’t tranqued out
of my mind
It’s getting where I sort
of like the feeling
Head dead
Horizontal on my bed
Mindfulness
says my therapist
who thinks he’s Sigmund Freud
And I am mindful that
of all my lovers
Sanity is the most
Fucking jealous

©2020 Sarah Drury

The M Word

CAUTION: EXPLICIT LANGUAGE AND SEXUAL CONTENT

Man sits with his
hand down his pants
Masturbating sir?
Fiddling with your bits?
And that is acceptable

Woman sits with her
hand down her pants
Masturbating madam?
Playing with your clit?
And that is NOT acceptable

He’s
Spanking the Monkey
Jerking the Gherkin
Beating his meat
Waxing the carrot
Tugging the slug
Burping the worm
Playing pocket pinball
Pulling the Pope
He’s wanking
He’s wanking
He’s wanking

And guess what?

WOMEN MASTURBATE

We’re
Auditioning the finger puppets
Fanning the fur
Buttering our muffin
Diddling Miss Daisy
Playing the piano
Petting the bunny
Flicking the bean
Smacking the pony
She’s wanking
She’s wanking
She’s wanking
(but ‘nicely’)

And why do all the
female wanking
euphemisms
Sound so goddam acceptable
So goddam wholesome
So goddam
NICE!

Do we have to be
beautified and stereotyped
even in masturbation?

Is it because it sounds
gentler falling upon
women’s ears?

Or less offensive
Screaming in the ears
of the men?

©2020 Sarah Drury

Second Wave

So, we’ve been
in Lockdown
since March 23rd
Stay Home, Stay Safe
Government preaching
the word
Following ‘The Science’
Controlling the R
Social Distancing
Facetiming our parents
from afar
People in isolation
Looking out
at the world
from a pandemic
glass jar
Can’t see our parents
Can’t see our friends
Can’t see our kids
Can’t see our
way out
of this shit

Boris spouting his
propaganda
How we’ve kept
the death rate down
How we’ve reduced
the strain
on the NHS
Fucking hell
I know 32,000 dead
who wouldn’t agree
It’s the Science
It’s the Science
And what about
herd immunity
And you weren’t
one of the immune
Boris

Now restrictions are
being lifted
We can’t go out
but we can
We shouldn’t wear
masks but
we should
We can stand
in a park
with one friend
two metres apart
Jesus, the outdoors
Who’s going to
implement that then?
The police trading in
their truncheons
for tape measures?
What the fuck is
going on
at number 10?

Work at home
but go to work
Walk, walk, walk
I can’t get my
fat arse on a bike
Two cheeks fighting
It would be like
a punch up
in M & S pants
Does he think
that England
will know the steps
to his exit dance
Kids back at school
How the fuck
they gonna implement
the social distancing
rule
Pick their noses
Scratch their arses
Bite their Nailsies
Coronaviruses
The Critical Care beds
may be empty
But that sea’s
a coming
and it’s an enormous
Second
Fucking
Wave

Yoga

I have only tried Yoga once, but it went something like this….

I have a golden Buddha
and he spoke to me
He thought it time
I broaden my spirituality
So, I vowed to go to a yoga class

Well I walked into the room
and there were twenty women
with their attitudes crass
and their notions of privilege
and pretentious class
And I knew all along
they were eyeing up
my fat ass
in all its lycra glory

I knew Buddha would’ve been
very disappointed
in these women
Who think they
have been appointed
the right to hold
their prejudice
in their judgmental minds
Where are the
spiritual tenets of
being generous, being kind?
Being human?

Flexibility is not my strong point
I can’t get my leg behind my ear
I daren’t do that for fear
I would fart
or split my pants
If they want me to do
the eight angle Astavakrasana
I haven’t got
a fucking chance
I’m more a reclining
sort of person

I don’t think my can of Pepsi
went down too well
For them it was some sort
of sugary hell
With their bottles
of Aqua Vitae
and their sorry snacks
Ecologically friendly
cardboard packs
Full of calorie hate
Poncey quinoa
Apricots and dates
And I may as well have
pulled a coronary out of
my bag when
I took out my
Mars Bar

I’ve said to Buddha
Yoga’s not for me
I will meditate
I will become a fucking tree
I was getting so bloody
irate
at the pretension
I couldn’t cope with the
amount of negative attention
I was getting as a
‘Fat bitch’
So I left

Maybe I will try quinoa though…

©2020 Sarah Drury

Sixteen Stone Food Porn

I am that
sixteen stone woman
about whom
doctors waxed
all lyrical
BMI through the
confectionary roof
It’s definitely a miracle
that

calories
taste so good
on my orgasmic lips
Fuck that Shakira
and her never lying hips
we’re talking Mr Whippy
here and
not pink fruit tea sips
And my clothes say
NO!!
but my poor self image
slips
another Mars Bar
in my gob

Apart from chocolate
heaven hell starvation
My mirror says
“put your fucking
glasses on”
My stomach
Cries “damnation”
And denies
it’s been involved in
the gastric augmentation
Of my gut

My body is a feast
of gastronomic gluttony
It’s sad when screwing food
is my primary fantasy
I get panty gusset wet
at the thought of
fresh whipped cream
And I would love to see
if chocolate cake could
screw me
like wet dreams
Laying spread eagled
A top the bed
feasting on ice cream
Vagazzle dazzle showing
Glinting blatant and obscene
Flicking V’s at
the fat shamers
the health proclaimers
calorie savers
Hit that tongue, Jack
the oven’s on
and there’s no going back
For a spoon

©2020 Sarah Drury