the therapist attempts to unlock the door
that separates her from the person trapped
within the confines of my brain
"I'm doing relatively fine," gives
her the idea that I'm managing
my time productively instead
of whining about life.
so she stops with the lock pick
and withdraws without knowing
that i whine about more than
just my life.
i whine about those should've known
better or about how I shouldn't
be so stupid all the time or
how my mother cares very little for us.
but I can't tell her any of this
because I don't want to be locked
away, though it's probably what's best
YOU ARE READING
w i t h e r e d • my poems
Poetrylike a flower devoid of water I withered until I was nothing I just didn't notice that the thieves were those I thought I should be trusting. saltwater travels up my stem drawing the life out of me as my petals fall off and all my dreams are snatche...
