Occupational Therapist Haiku

Hello Sophie you greet

Taking me out of the ward

Hope stems from these hours


I am a Book

I am a book

Hidden on a dusty shelf

At the back

Not at the front like the glossy hardback

They scream ‘number one bestseller’, ‘from the number one author’

Whereas I am the battered paperback

Passed around from pillar to post

Sometimes kindly, mostly not

My pages are folded down, marking my most significant moments (some myself I would have not chosen)

My tale continues on and on through the pages

Some pages are still blank

They are still yet to be written

I am the author of my story

Although some people have written in the margins of me

Scarring the pages, but not defining them

It is my story to tell after all

And I am not finished yet.

Consultant’s Judgement

Who are you to judge me?

You sit in your high chair looking down at me

You pass judgement without thought

Without knowing me

What I’ve been through

It may not justify my actions

But it goes some way to explain them

It is my story

And with your judgement

You silence my voice

But I have the right to have my story told

It is my life

It does not define me

It does not break me

It shows how far I’ve come

And you have no right to silence that

In you consultant’s chair you do not see me

You see a patient

But I am Sophie

And I will


Be silent


Am I Home?

My home used to be in the warm south

It was hot. Claustrophobically so.

Everything was neat. Put into little boxes.

So sanitised, even your screams were categorised

Loud scream. Soft screams. No one hears you scream screams.

I didn’t fit in to their rigid categorisation

I didn’t fit in at home

So I took my home elsewhere

I took it to the frozen north

Up past the smog of London

Up past the fields and greenery

Past the border

And into the granite

Dull and grey it first seems as oppressive as the south

But it has a little secret only the keen-eyed know

It sparkles

Even in the dullest weather, it has that sparkle hidden deep within it

So my home is now in Scotland

Where it is cool

But not neat. Things are wild here

Nothing is forced into little boxes

I didn’t fit in at home

So I moved my home

Am I home?

Only time can tell