No One Is Going To Pick You Up Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

I have only myself to blame
For not brushing my teeth from the age of two and a half
That all my molars were filled with amalgam by the age of eight
That they slapped me conscious, or was it nearly concussed after each dental procedure.

I have only myself to blame
They fed me with sugary drinks and sweets
As a form of tetherless love
Providing poor dietary sustenance leading to
White checkerboard nails, a novelty at the time.

I have only myself to blame
For following suit and taking up John Player's Blue and draft ale as a daily pursuit.

I have only myself to blame
In between homeless, couch surfing on Prozac, stepping out of one relationship into the next
For my special education lessons, leaving school uneducated
For not being able to read or write
But at least I learnt to say the Lord's Prayer and say
Hello in French, Bonjour
Without ever having the means to travel.

And what's more they told me the earth wasn't flat,
That sailors didn't sail off the edge of the world,
But the world was actually round like a tennis ball —
Round or flat, when you fall it's with a splat,
No one is going to pick you up,
Every day is a lesson growing up without a textbook.