Tourette’s Poem by Amy Nancarrow

A new foundation, freedom is dead.

I wish to be a portrait, Smooth and weightless, With each stroke, I make no movement, The beautiful colours provide relaxation,

And I’ll stand without any intrusion. A pigmentless positionMy expression the same, for years to come, There is no pain.

This can never be the case, My body disjointed and unafraid, Sat flat in a building unchanged, In front of a white coat ready for examination.

Taking in what I already know This disposition is freeing, A diagnostic explanation of fear, Perished in understanding.

I rock back in relief, Then fall forward in disbelief, There is no taking in the history,

The misplaced conceptions pushed upon me.

My head pushed up against my hands. There are two reactions, One is calm and fair. The other enraged and scared.

I am forced to leave the canvas, It has become so lonely, my mind encumbered.

It was never not normal, only circumstantial, One in a hundred, those are the chances.