Oh Freud,
you think we argue
because of an Electra complex,
because I think you castrated me.
Oh Freud, you say
we're destined to be catastrophic.
You've become sort of trophic
- singing the same tune
over and over.
Isn’t that fucking tragic?
Oh Freud,
Sometimes I wish you weren't
the little voice in my head
that doubts me
as I burrow down the rabbit hole.
Oh Freud,
Sometimes I think it's just me
but I only have to call you up
to get a fresh live performance.
I'm sorry you think that
Being proud of myself and who I am
is indulging my superego.
Oh Freud,
you've treated me for 23 years,
taught me to self-diagnose:
I've had an oral fascination,
relived childhood trauma,
sought out my father
in the faces of teenage boys.
Can you bloody hear yourself?
You've misinterpreted my dreams,
said my sexuality doesn't exist,
until I can no longer separate
unconscious from conscious.
Oh Freud,
I can't even say you've made me worse.
I can't even say that,
because before I was me,
I was you.