Author: Julie Newcombe

The Sting of Stigma

To the watchers and the gossips judging me,
How your ignorance astounds me, let it be.
You like to moralise, but not to do.
You live life on the surface, well done you.

Did you think about my loneliness, my shame
When I’m struggling just to play this living game?
And who are you to judge me for my pain
When every day’s a battle to be sane?

If I try to say you’ve added to my plight,
Would you say, “Who me?”, yet think that proves you right?
I cannot comprehend what makes you tick,
But I do know whose mind is really sick.

Chapter 20

Locked away, abused and helpless,
Medicated, drugged, confined.
Behaviour is communication,
Not an illness, not a crime.
All the power with paltry knowledge,
Lives destroyed on just a whim.
Was he just a diagnosis?
Did you really look at him?
Your decisions, so professional,
Keep the status quo maintained.
Yet the words you utter fall as
Blows that gives him endless pain.
See that person you’ve created,
Victim of your ego’s thrall.
Did you ever make him better?
Was he ever ill at all?

#LEDER

To those people who think it’s actually okay to let people with learning disabilities consistently die over 20 years before their time. This is for you….

On the edge, on the outside, dead eyes looking on,
This lot weren’t really people, they didn’t belong.
For their worth is on our terms so don’t even think
They have value or matter; they dwell on the brink.
We can play at learnt lessons, we might even fork
Out some money to taunt them but still it’s just talk.
Not a golden child there, just a number, a stat.
We won’t stop to deride, they’re not even worth that.
They are all made of nothing, this miserable throng
And if death gives them value, it won’t be for long.
On the edge, on the outside, we’ll let them stay there,
Our solutions are final, we really don’t care.