The Art of Psychology


Who am I exactly?

Or let’s not be so exact.

Am I someone who holds a million and one

Flimsy facts and stats

In the back of my cranium


Someone who loves to make her heart bleed

And spread

The beautiful shades of red on paper?

They call that poetry.


Or maybe, maybe

I’m someone who

Craves the mysterious

With contradicting theories

Where no one really knows concrete things.

This is the language of psychology


Psych- a possible art

that spreads my life into a painting

In which is held together by the psychological frame

Within the backdrop of sketched brains.


Here goes nothing

Or everything- a psychological illusion.

The psychological painting of my life:


20 years from now

I see a silhouette of me

Peering into the soul of a man,

Peeling back his words

That marinate into his soul


I see myself observing

The radical thoughts of a five year old

Who pushed a cat

In front of a subway train


I see myself negotiating

With the girl who swears

She’s bipolar, dyslexic, schizophrenic, has OCD, ADD, ADHD, amnesia, insomnia, and allll of the other disorders in the DSM

As I try to remind her that

...She’s only a hypochondriac.


In this painting,

I see myself

Looking into the kaleidoscope of life

And finding different colors of people

In my office

Discussing similar things.

Mondays are the persecuted gays

Tuesdays is blowing steam with those

Who have low self-esteem

Wednesdays are the depressed

Thursdays are break

Thank God! since by then, I’d be depressed

And Fridays are for those who are just tired

Of burning fries under sweaty hands and a McDonald’s cap.

Repetition is why we are all still there

Staring into the empty spaces

Where I’ll try my hardest, I swear

To ‘fix’ them.

To tell them what’s best,

 But it’s psychology

Where nothing’s promised.

The mysterious

With contradicting theories

Where no one really knows.


So yes.

20 years from now

I’ll be a psychologist.

After 10 years of college to get there.

A lifetime of struggle to keep it up.

I see myself there

In places where

No one

Really knows.

Psychology, the Art

Where the mysteries grow.



Beautiful. Honest.

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