Poetry on a particular aspect of mental health.

With thanks to Elti Meshau for use of the header image (licensing).

She’d said it as a joke
But it wasn’t very funny
Not from where I was sitting
At the table of a restaurant
The type of which being
Neither here nor there
As I thought about it and nothing else
The rest of the meal
All through the night
Next day too
Even when doing the shopping
Even did that thing hated in others
By taking the groceries
Into a pub with me
Placing the bags down on the floor
Like two islands reminding
Everyone else of the world outside
Cutting in on their pissed-up bliss
Hazards to be navigated
When the whole point of being there
Was so they’d be completely missed
But so consumed was I
The faux pas didn’t even register
Even today
Looking in the mirror
Rubbing the annoying
Hairs on my face
Noticing a couple longer
High up on the cheek
Missed the last time shaving
Sloppy
What must people have thought
At the supermarket checkout
In the pub
Inwardly asked with shake of head
Simultaneously wondering
If it was meant
Not so innocent as to be
Casually passed off
As a joke that just happened
To sting more than most
But instead sly
A deliberate dig
Fully knowing
The inner workings of me
For after all
Everyone’s been
Really great recently
Despite that thing
About fools rushing in
That I can still feel running
While there’s something in their eyes
Opposite of glint
A small dark splinter
Saying they can too
She’d said it as joke
Paranoia is like a god
Believe in it enough
And it becomes real
But it wasn’t very funny

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