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on any given therapy day

“Absence will provide space
for your healing”

 
she says it as if
it’s true,
hands across her lap
in her prim, white chair
with the fancy turned legs;
I envy her
 
I wonder what it’s like  
to have your shit together
enough to own white furniture

 
I hate her for the secrets
she keeps from me
locked in an old cigar box,
requiring sacrifice  
of my skin  
two days a week
just to get a peek
at my identity
 
just tell me how to be like you  

I want to argue;
her sentiment
really pisses me off,  
but it’s not like  
I’ve given my myself
any other choice  
 
besides,
she only says that  
because she’s never  
had to confess  
to so many murders,
dragging herself back
to the scene  
of every crime,
reliving the moments
she couldn’t let go  
of being afraid
 
but I’ll keep digging
so long as she attends
the funerals;
something tells me
she cares if I make it
 
it makes me want to care, too  
Written by LunaGreyhawk
Published
Author's Note
I started this for the visual poetry comp: Healing, but it seems I had something else to say.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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