Therapy

Mon, 03/16/2020 - 16:09 -- tbos

I caved and seen a counselor today. I impatiently waited in the office, picking at my skin, filling out monotonous paperwork, checking the yeses and the noes, and more anxious waiting.

 

The water fountain in the corner ran, 

Soothing sounds, supposedly 

But I can't soothe the sounds of my penetrative thoughts 

The water sprints down the ridged surface, 

The water contours and oscillates, 

Waving hello to my weakness hidden in self-proclaimed resilience,

And goodbye to man-made willpower I had accumulated and collected over the years, 

Like novelties on a dusty shelf. 

 

The cold water smacks the smoothed rocks, 

Beaten by life, 

Beaten by the system, 

Smooth and passive and un-respected.

The rocks glisen in distemper, judgment, self-pity, resentment.

 

The bronze edges of the fountain are faded,

Oxidized and tie-dyed turquoise, 

The vibrant color flakes off onto the battered coffee carpet, 

The floor is speckled with the blue and green, 

Like lily pads in an unfathomably large pond,

Contrasting the stars in the night sky,

Bursting in color like the galaxy,

I debated the sanitation of the room, 

The cleanliness of my intentions, 

The hygiene of my mind.

 

The rain beats the window pan in an unmerciful sob, 

The perfect day to cry three seconds into a superficial conversation, 

The sky is dull grey like my dull cognition. 

Overcast. 

 

My name is spoked like a snap of a whip, 

The release of rumination,

The release of the judgemental bondage of these centuries-old pamphlets on how I can help myself, 

I'm lost. 

So lost.

 

What am I doing? 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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