I don’t know if I have depression,
But it’s sunny outside and I love the sun, But right now I don’t know if I can face leaving home.

I don’t know if I have depression,
But when I think ahead to tomorrow and the days after that,
even though I have a wonderful boyfriend and new flat,
even though I know I’ll laugh with my friends.
All I can think, is not this again.

Not this feeling of despair
Not this claustrophobic doom
I don’t have ‘enough’ money, so I have no right to enjoy good food.
I don’t have a ‘proper’ job, so I have no right to complain. No right, because I don’t have to get up at 6:30 again.

I have no right to feel sad,
No right to feel down,
I have the support of my friends and family all around.
I have no right to feel loss, no right to feel rage,
I live a white middle class life, a beautiful cage.

The bars gleam with expectation,
They shine gold with privilege,
But they weren’t built to contain such heavy feelings within it.
They were built for a songbird – sing for me, play a song!
You should be famous – or has the moment gone?
You have so much talent, why do you still work for minimum wage?
Maybe because I’m still working through this rage.

This rage at myself for having what I need, not all that I want, but enough to be free.
No lifetime of poverty is waiting for me.
This songbird’s cage is so lovely and shiny.
So why can’t I enjoy it, what the fuck’s wrong with me?

I don’t know if I’m depressed or just guilty.

But what does that matter, if it matters at all?
Just to be another poor name on a form.
Given a label, some drugs, an excuse for it all?

The crazy thing is, none of this matters really.
Well, it shouldn’t. But it does.
It does to me.


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