VICTORY LAP
Do not mistake me for comfort zones and safe placesfor the gentle whirring of the washing machineand slow dancing in old socks on a late Friday evening after schoolDo not mistake me for dried lavender and incense sticks, scentedcandles and 80s mixtapes.For the comic books and secondhand paperbacks of classics and lentil soup served in floral painted bone china. I am not any of these things.I am hospital bills and unpaid leavesI am waiting rooms and mood stabilizersNothing about my body looks like shared blankets and pillow talkMy body is cold bed I want to wake up fromI am not your mother`s lap.I am not your ex-lover`s shoulderI am not your way out of yourselfDo not mistake me for another soft thing you can break and write poetry onI am relaxed ambulances heading home from the morgue,with the satisfaction that there is nothing left for you to kill… …I knew a girl who liked to drawShe drew pictures that nobody sawShe was most artistic late at nightIn the bathroom, out of sightShe kept a secret no one knew,She didn’t tell a soul and her gallery grewHer drawings were different, no paper or penBut needed a bandage now and againWe stood by the river under the stars,She rolled up her sleeves and showed me her scarsShe felt embarrassed and looked down at her shoesThen I rolled up my sleeves and whispered “I draw too” We are unfazed, untouched, unbothered.We are in control here. We dictate the narrative. The scent of victory, quite irresistibleThe magic in the air, feels quite tangible Our chests pounding, surging adrenaline This is our victory lap, we gave it our all Mental Health in an Unequal World: Together we can make a difference
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