A poem loosley based on the story of Prince Johnnie. The English Prince that was locked away at childhood because of his dissabilities.


(Loosely based on the story of Prince Johnnie)

When I was young, they told me I was unique,

They put me in a room, all on my own, with curtains that
smelt like roses, and a lock on the door, to keep my sister from messing up my
toy soldiers, or me from messing up hers,

They told me to write my name in charcoal and then ink, then
they ironed me a beautiful white suit, that smelt like daises,

I wondered why the bed post smelt like blood, iron and rust
and blood; it stood stark against the unadorned white,

The white washed floor shone, if they had let me wear my
walking shoes, like I wanted, I would have dirtied it, and mother would have
been cross,

It was six days, or seven, before I thought of mother, she
must be lonely with no one to tuck her in at night, or was that her to me?

The bed had a hard mattress, the springs dug in to my back
at one end, so I slept the other way, with my head in the moonlight from the

The window was small, I couldn’t see much of the garden from
it, only the rose direct outside, and that was half obscured by bars,

The bars that smelt of cold hard stone, and tasted of the
night, sometimes my visitor came, pressed his nose to the iced window, and told
me he had to go, or mother would be mad,

Mad, the word that I heard them say if I pressed my ear to
the smooth painted wall and listened to the crisp voice of nanny, I wondered
why she should be talking of anger,

If she was annoyed at anything, anything at all, I would
suggest that she take a walk in the garden outside, although I do not know if
it is a pleasant place, I have not had chance to see it as yet,

I get three square meals a day and lesson times from twelve,
as nanny would say, so even though I have not had chance to see the dew covered
grass, or the large horse chestnut that throws shiny conkers when it starts to
chill, or my rose, in person yet, it is nice here, and besides, I am unique.

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