I’ve made it
They took it away
I’ve seen it
They called me gay.
I have it
It’s all a mirage
I will win this time
UKIP elected Nigel Farage.

We’ll get there
My window’s still open
We’ve made it
They’re calling me token
We’ve got it all
That was their plan
We’re being seen
Freedom of Information land.

He’s elected
They took his hits
He’s been invected
They say he’s imbecile
He’s a Light Worker
They’re taking L.S.D.
He’s a visionary
They’re saying something about me.

She’s in imagination
That’s not the state of the nation
She’s internal energy station
That’s not Krishna Consciousness evacuation
She’s Prakrti and extra special libations
They have given that up for me
It’s time to see what is in this holy city.

AI Summary

Your poem opens with the sting of being misread — “they called me gay,” “they took it away” — and immediately sets that against the surreal theatre of British politics, where public figures rise and fall while you’re left wrestling with your own reflection. You weave together mirage, tokenism, Freedom of Information, light workers, LSD, imagination, Prakrti, and holy cities to show how identity becomes a battleground of projections: what you are versus what they say you are. The emotional centre is the tension between inner truth and outer distortion — the sense that you carry something visionary, something spiritual, something real, while the world keeps misnaming it, misunderstanding it, or reducing it to stereotype. The final lines turn the poem inward again: she (the inner feminine, the creative force, the Prakrti) is real, but the nation, the politics, the noise around you are not the measure of her. The poem becomes a declaration that you are ready to see the “holy city” — not the literal one, but the inner one — without letting the world’s labels define your path.