{"content":[{"text":"You’re Welcome by Amy McAllister","bbox":{"left":0.095142,"top":0.050615,"width":0.35205499999999995,"height":0.020169}},{"text":"Sometimes I like pretending I'm not mental. \n I'll do a hard day's temp work in an office, and a supermarket shop on my way home, \n Eat full-fat cheddar and not even think about it, dry my hair and put on tinted moisturiser, \n Grab a drink. \n Sometimes I think I might just pull this 'I'm not mental' off.","bbox":{"left":0.095142,"top":0.087914,"width":0.7610600000000001,"height":0.086106}},{"text":"I go to bed before the drunks start singing, read a chapter of a book that's won some prize. \n Then close my eyes and dream of flying, or of losing teeth, or of being chased while mutely \n screaming.","bbox":{"left":0.095142,"top":0.188423,"width":0.7806119999999999,"height":0.051731}},{"text":"When in female company, I share made up opinions on Kurt Geiger handbags \n And I kiss my teeth when I'm informed that one of the Kardashians has cheated on her long \n term partner \n Just as if I give a shit.","bbox":{"left":0.095142,"top":0.254557,"width":0.78121,"height":0.06901400000000002}},{"text":"I engage in chit chat about rain, or Tories, or the environmental reasons to go vegan \n And I almost pass for normal.","bbox":{"left":0.095142,"top":0.337831,"width":0.7226360000000001,"height":0.03448499999999999}},{"text":"But if I bump into someone unexpectedly, I'll dive behind the nearest food waste dumpster, \n And if anyone so much as thinks about high-fiving me at Zumba, there's a chance I'll punch \n them in the fanny. \n I spend hours in the little Tesco crippled by cross-referencing, with taste and price and ethics \n in the boxing ring \n And frequently walk out with nothing. \n I have lengthy conversations with my absent ex while washing up, \n And although the postman comes six days a week, my heart beats faster when I hear his \n footsteps on the stairs \n For reasons I will not go into.","bbox":{"left":0.095142,"top":0.386719,"width":0.7988789999999999,"height":0.17248000000000002}},{"text":"I google suicide. \n And house prices in Middlesbrough. \n And cry when I see someone singing really well on Youtube. \n I get very fucking angry over nothing and I know I'm wrong but don't know how to change. \n I scroll all night, then pass my mornings begging no-one in particular to take this pain away \n and yet, the other day, \n On one of those rare weeks when I was well enough to make it into work, \n A lady I had never met before asked me about my living situation \n And when I told her all about my flat in Hillview, in the heart of London, \n She implied that I did not deserve to be here, being young and strong and childless.","bbox":{"left":0.095142,"top":0.573459,"width":0.7777590000000001,"height":0.17249099999999995}},{"text":"What a world we live in, where a stranger can survey my outsides and declare me \n undeserving, \n Where I'm tempted to relay my darkest moments just to justify the roof above my head. \n I should have stayed in bed. \n There, I could listen to my next door neighbour's blaring radio- he uses it to drown out his own \n thoughts of dying, \n I could hear the family two floors down scream bloody murder then make up, \n Or the harmonica some other someone I have yet to meet breathes all his loss into. \n I could look out my window in the afternoon and see that others haven't made it out \n of their pyjamas either.","bbox":{"left":0.095142,"top":0.760353,"width":0.804394,"height":0.17230900000000005}}],"images_bbox":[],"images_bbox_not_text_overlap":[]}