Anne S. - Flee on your donkey
Jaws clacking of imperial anger,Of superior honesty -
And they call that mental illness!
A woman with a pen can't do much
When a mightier man is holding the ink.
She'll see the black dry out
And laugh at him, who thinks that
Dehydration of the 'necessary solution'
Can end the will of talent.
She'll write her thoughts in blood –
They lock her up and treat her
Like a damned lunatic!
Except – they'll grant her a little credit
For looking like a model.
'Shitty looks, shitty looks', she'll say
And love them more than ever.
She'll write day and night
About hospitals and institutions,
About doctors with migraines and
Nurses without hearts –
But they will not know,
they won't ever have a clue
that she's the only one
who managed to flee on her donkey!
Anne – your biological father was a wool businessman,
Mine – a little nail hammered in the wall,
But we both know what it feels like
To want to flee on a donkey...
Poetry by Francesca Georgia Luca
Read 590 times
Written on 2006-12-15 at 20:10
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