Blue boreal, I've been bleeding blue moon
Motion capture, been replaying each move
Hunting whispers, by the therapy room
My mom babbles fables to my therapist,
Weaving fictional tales, my palm is now a fist
I'm the villain, she's the victim, damn such a narcissist!
When I sit across the doctor, I see the sketches,
Made by children with cognitive indifferences,
Yet I complain rather than taking their influences
Who am I to cry when a child's mother's a child?
Should I really whine when my depression's only mild?
Lost in a jungle of jugglers,who dream wild
My blood is flowing fine yet my skin and bone burn,
I'm well abled human, still on bed, I sickly curl,
A lamp, illuminating light to all, but inside's dull
I speak my mind in therapy, but the trauma reignites,
Stripping off band aids, from a healed wound, I cry!
Some words are unsaid, left alone to die
Awkward silence fills the room when I breakdown,
My therapist hums formally, when I blurt like a clown,
Anxiety's like, I'm already in water, yet I can't drown
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Poet's note -
This poem is submitted for a monthly contest where the theme was "emotional numbness" and I quickly thought about my therapy process which is numbingly painful.
Vote, follow and comment if you liked the poem.
YOU ARE READING
Life is lonely lethal love
Poetry𝗔 𝗽𝗼𝗲𝘁𝗿𝘆 𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 Have you ever wondered to yourself that what is life? What is purpose of life? 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 - 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘵. 𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦...
