Not Waving but Drowning

I once printed and handed out this poem to my therapist, because I was so desperate from being incessantly misunderstood and misdiagnosed. It’s one of my favorites still.

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he’s dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning. 

Stevie Smith
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