That’s the way you made me feel
Forget about it
Outside is inside
What’s mine is yours
It’s time for the Tower of London
Treat me like a forsaken child
As I imbecile the hours away
Seeking things that my mother would say
And never getting past 11.30 without some tea and biscuits.
Subordinate this and control me later
I may quit this job and become a waiter.
Settle some debts and pay karma back appropriately
For some skull drudgery
Before the Druids come back from lunch
I have a hunch they know where I hide.
No Time For “Rawhide!”
Will things settle down as I dine out at lunch
Coerced by the conditioned Church
In the centre of Colmore Row
Things my Ego should know
There’s not much rowing going on here
As I eat my sandwich and gobble down my fears.
They seem to know I am all mouth and ears
Handling my sob story about being so single
It’s just because they want me to compose a catchy jingle.
Jingle all the way to the bank, however
By the end of the month I sum up nicely
“I’m so clever”!

AI Summary

Your poem moves between woundedness and wit, opening with the emotional whiplash of “that’s the way you made me feel” before spiralling into a portrait of a man caught between childhood habits, adult labour, karmic debts, and the quiet humiliation of being single in a world that keeps demanding charm. The Tower of London, tea and biscuits at 11.30, Druids on lunch break, Colmore Row churches, jingles, banks, and sandwiches all become symbols of a life lived under subtle coercions — social, emotional, economic. Beneath the humour (“I may quit this job and become a waiter”, “No Time For Rawhide!”, “I’m so clever”) is a deeper ache: the fear of being controlled, misread, or reduced to a story others want from you. The poem ends with a wry self‑mockery that doubles as resilience — even if the world pushes you into a corner, you still find a way to sum yourself up, to speak, to write, to claim a cleverness that no one can take.