jesus – Sarah Drury

I suffer with Bipolar disorder and often wonder how the mentally ill were treated in Biblical times. There was a lot of talk of miracles and visions and I often wonder how much of this could be attributed to mental illness. Anyway, here’s a quick poem.

Miracles

Sweet Jesus
I often wonder that
With whores you
Would sit
But would you sit
With the crazy?
Would you have
A special seat
Beside you
There
For me?

Could we
While away
Our days
Discussing the
Theories
Of Sigmund Freud
Or hypothesising on
The
Disadvantages of
Mental asylums?

Maybe you would
Go that extra mile
And drop a lithium
And see if it
Fucks with
Your mind
In a not displeasing
Manner

Or perhaps
You could
Turn a loaf of bread
Into a cure
And exorcise
The demons
Away

People in the
Bible
Were always
Seeing visions
Experiencing miracles
And No-one ever
Dialled up
The psychiatrist

How is it that
Even though
The so called
SICK
Experience the same
Crazy shit
We don’t
Write bibles
Anymore

It’s all quite fascinating
And disturbing

Please
Jesus
Be a good boy
Swallow your pills
And we’ll medicate
The Miracles
away

Happy birthday Jesus
Lying in your simple manger
Lowly, meek, humble,
commercialism a stranger
bet ya didn’t know that years to come
your beloved day of birth
would become a multitrillion franchise
that gifts of gold and myrrh and frankincense
by men proclaiming themselves wise
would morph into a creed of greed whilst children plead to be good indeed
for the wise men don’t bring gifts anymore
it’s a fat bloke in a red suit, black boots
white hair and beard, rosy cheeks belying his white privileged roots
and you’d better be good, didn’t you know he could
leave you a sack of broken dreams, fuck you coal
leave you a psychological smear on your childhood.

Happy birthday Jesus
Bet you didn’t know
That whilst your parents struggled in their desperation
Not aware of the glory and jubilation
Piss poor with not a roof to call their place
The masses would be gorging on a turkey feast
With food to feed a capitalist appetite
with trolleys loaded like culinary weapons fueling the consumerist beast
that the arm of the machine of Commercialism has been greased
that simplicity and modesty and want not are deceased
And why not have a bite out of the Christmas cake
And choke on the excesses in which our society partakes
A mouthful of craziness and a sentiment that’s fake.

Happy birthday Jesus
Bet your simple manger
Didn’t look like the Las Vegas strip
With the star of Bethlehem glowing modestly
With promises of greatness and goodness
And wisdom and benevolent leadership.
Whilst the glare of commercialism is blinding
With its 1000,000 watt show of excess and falsity
Showing how Jesus has become a commercial commodity
How the denial of humility has become a societal monstrosity
What’s wrong with a single star and a birth of mediocrity.
What’s wrong with our world?
What is this pretense that there is no inequality?
What is this illusion, this fucked up dishonesty.

So Happy Birthday Jesus
I know it wasn’t your dream
To see the world bedecked in its outrageous festive theme
I know if you came back today
Your mind would be devastated, your heart would scream
But Happy birthday
Happy birthday
Welcome to this world’s fucked up consumer dream.

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