Shrink

“You write because you feel too much,
Too much to keep it all within.”

I love it when my therapist
Relinquishes her ” you tell me”,
And shares a bit of what she thinks.
For what she thinks is so so off
I cannot help but laugh aloud
And make her blush and closed again.

“You call me not to look at you.
You call me now to laugh at me.”

Sometimes, I wonder if she’s right.
And other times, if she’s the right
Psychologist for me to see.
At least, she’s pretty. Present. Prompt.
At least, she’s vulnerable too.
At least, she reads the books I read.
Not all of them. Important ones.
At least, I see her as a friend.
Perhaps the only friend I trust
In times I do not trust myself.

“I write because I do not feel,
I _cannot_ feel the way they feel,
The way the writers I admire
Describe the feelings I require
To feel that I can also feel.
I write because I envy them.
Now that’s a feeling I can feel.”

She laughs. I sigh. She laughs again.
“Frustration. That’s another one.
You try too hard, but I see you.
You write because you feel too much.
Too much to keep it all within.
Now, tell me if I’m wrong, okay?
You’ll write this as a poem too.”

At least, she knows the way I think.