I once ran out of therapy.

It was more of a walk-run actually,

I was either nauseous or anxious,

they’re similar feelings,

you know?


Last time in therapy my therapist asked:

what’s something you’re really good at?

I should have said:


I didn’t say anything actually,

missed opportunity,

I think.


Sometimes in therapy,

my brain forgets how to speak,

and I watch my thoughts rollover in my head.


No but therapy is weird,

really it is.

Only in therapy can a blue swirly pattern on a pillow

become absolutely fucking fascinating!

Almost as fascinating as that painting

of the flying pig

that hangs on her wall.


You know sometimes in therapy,

I feel like Hansel and Gretel;

leaving a trail of breadcrumbs

as I walk towards that weird house in the woods,

hoping she’ll be able to save me

when I finally get there.

Except I think that I’ve out walked those two

by about two years.


You know sometimes,

it really hurts,

when you realize that fear

is blocking your ability to trust,

because actually,

that’s all you want anyways.






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