I am a poet! I am. I am. I am a poet, I reaffirmed, ashamed.

My therapist says she wants to try something
and I say “Sure,” because she keeps
a jar of candy on her desk
and I’m a fucking idiot
who cannot get enough chocolate
and apparently I still haven’t
learned the lesson
that there’s no such thing
as a free sweet nothing

So, she stabs me in the chest
and asks if it hurts-
“No, not at all” I reassure her
thinking she probably
should be feeling pretty guilty
right about now and wanting
to assuage her.
“See, that’s a problem.”
she tells me,
“That’s the wrong answer.
But you get an F+
for effort. I’ll give you that.”

“Um, ok, and also,
how about some bandages?
Do not stab me again.”

“You don’t need them,
you’re not bleeding.
Do you see how that’s
not the right way
for your body to react
to such a thing?
Can you…

View original post 24 more words

Author: Sudden Denouement

A Global Literary Collective

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