Inscrutable Instruments

Along the same vein as the previous post – A Dedication to Emilie Autumn’s ‘The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls’ – is this poem, Inscrutable Instruments. I wrote this a few years ago but have re-drafted, revised and edited it again over the Winter holiday. 

This time delicate Victorian lace
Replaces those daunting steel bars
How nice
Where are the mice?

Not in here! Not at the orthodontists!
Where my teeth pushed and pulled in every direction
The enamel left is only a fraction
From what was there before

Starring through the window
My gaze penetrating to the outside
In a vain attempt to refocus attention
From the damage I struggle to abide

Away from these inscrutable instruments
That look suitable only for violation
And yet this is my remission
To be scraped and reshaped

Ready for the next time
When the devices return
With yet higher prices
And no amount of remission will suffice

Jenna Grabey © 2013. All Rights Reserved.

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A Dedication to Emilie Autumn’s ‘The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls’

After reading Emilie Autumn’s semi-autobiography The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls which by the way I highly recommend although it is not easy to get hold of a copy. I thought I would post this poem which I wrote back in 2009 because it strongly relates to a poignant point Emilie makes. For those of you who have a copy of the book then the page that I am particularly referring to is 220. I hope you enjoy the poem.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Psychology: If it’s so popular they why the stigma?
Mental Illness affects one in four people: Fact
.
You demonised me into being victim
Like I chose that- are you sick?
Just because the fromage I wouldn’t lick
And wanted to resemble a stick

Or to be violently sick
Left alone to be depressed
Though I had nothing to confess
Suicidal thoughts I caressed

All these years attempting to express how I feel
Shut down and shut up every time, by you
I would have told you till I was blue
In face if I thought you’d have listened

People, unlike you did listen
And act, support, didn’t “shut up”
I talked freely, drinking coffee,
With bars, on the window
I owe them my life.
The ability to laugh and not care
What anyone else may think
To be drunk and to be aware,
Emotion doesn’t mean, you need to see a shrink
It means you are alive, and living,
Interacting with everything around you

A slave, subjected to emotion
A victim of expression
Terrified of my reflection
Surrounded by oppression

I was sick.

All negative blood tests
That is always best.

Can’t see anything wrong
Just “come back if symptoms persist”.
Was ten years too long?
Were you waiting for rig-amortise?

In body, physically a child
In mind, psychologically a child
Listen to Blake as he whispers, Innocence
Epitomising youth in his assonance

Dry cries for help
Invaded 1999 to 2009
All without tears
Just pure anger and fears

I owe you my existence
My life belongs to me
Sick of submission
And a victim of emotion

Jenna Grabey © 2009

The image above is taken from the book. I do not own any rights over it only what is written above.

Lughnasadh: The Autumn Equinox

Lughnasadh

For the Celtic figure Lugh. He unites people with the land and is therefore illustrious during The Harvest festival, Lughnasadh.

Fruit is yield by trees
Sheaves of corn are cut in the breeze,
With many thanks to the Earth
For she gave her bounty birth.

This is the Earth’s sacrifice
That she performs without a cry,
And the Sun begins to wane
Yet remains faithful to the land.

Lugh in slain
Yet death has no claim,
Because into an eagle he transforms
So with a fawn he sees another dawn.

And now a lone stag looks into relentless skies
And watches as an eagle flies.
The warm sun, now turning cold
Sinks behind ancient hills,
Turning them to enchanting gold.

© Jenna Leanne Grabey 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Lockerbie

Think about the innocent and Lockerbie

Bathing like Elizabeth Bathory
Or washing your hands like Lady MacBeth
Recall the innocents in Lockerbie
You may as well have taken Crystal-meth

Still be damaging to those around you
Apart from the members in the party
Because you are all the same shade of blue
Smoking contemporary politics how arty

You didn’t have a clue
It was an accident
Too late the party flew
And caused another dent

Intention was the same
But more were meant to-do
And not to be left lame
With the party you slew

Until all viscera were in two
Still you’re all the same damn shade of blue
And you still caused damn burning murder
As the party intended to do

© Jenna Grabey 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Hope

Hope

I’ll never forget those words you told me
Even though I can’t act upon them yet
But one day I will and I hope you will see
How far I have come since we first met

I shall open all the doors and windows
Let the breath of life run through the house and me
And I will let go, take a deep breath and grow
So to learn and understand the seas of emotion

Tears exist but are too frightened to fall
So anger pushes them, to find they are gone
You, your words, and the meetings I recall
Yet I still cannot sing your’ song
And tears still feel wrong

So for now, recalling your’ words I must fight
The less painful ways to escape, do it right
Forget my destructive ideas, day and night
To ensure I grow, and then you’ll be within my sight

© Jenna Leanne Grabey 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Dance to your Song

Dance to your Song

*This is in dedication to someone who helped me change my life for the better, thank-you.

I wish you were the one that had saved me
As my own body just won’t let me be
I know that you saved my mind
Because I understand your song
I ask myself, now that you are gone
Why can’t I dance to your song?

As when I dance I trip over my feet
To a song that you sang so perfectly.

And why can’t I walk on the path
A path you paved so neatly before me?

As when I walk on your path
Insanity blindfolds me so I cannot see
And fall off the path that is lit
So in darkness I now sit
What gave birth to that insanity?

As for my body
It just will not budge
If my body was your puppet
The strings would snap and I would tumble
Snapping and cracking as I crumble.

And as for my soul,
I hope the purity of my mind will be my guide
Or else, hope mercy will be my bride.

© Jenna Leanne Grabey 2012. All Rights Reserved.