the pendulum of the clock
ticks and sways
as the seconds of silence pass.
my therapist stares into my eyes
like she's searching for
her lost car keys.
my mother pays $100 a month
for me to sit in dead quiet
and practically watch paint dry.
i refuse to speak unless forced to
because just saying something
won't fix the problem.
in fact,
bringing up past turmoil,
makes me feel worse.
it's like dying peacefully,
and just when you thought you could rest,
someone pulls you back from
your well-earned sleep
just to bring up something
that happened an eternity ago.
that is why
every other thursday
i sit in my therapist's office
and clear the air
with purifying silence.
YOU ARE READING
up close & personal
Poetry- a compilation of slam poetry/ narrative poetry about the labels we put on ourselves and others, internal contracts, hardships, and difficulties. however, we will overcome and defeat because everyone that said we couldn't, were wrong. we just have...
