My Therapist’s a Lady

by on November 2, 2011 :: 0 comments

It’s all so simple now,
yet it took 30 years
to begin to understand.
It’s as though someone
stole the primer I had
and gave me another
in my own language.
It’s because you are
who you are
that I’ve begun
to become who I am.
That sounds too dramatic.
All you did, really, was scream
when you opened the bathroom door,
saw me wrapped in a towel,
standing at attention on a mat,
waiting in my thirtieth year
for the steam to clear
from the cabinet mirror,
waiting for someone
to shout, “At ease.”

editors note:

What shouts may come as the steam clears? What image seen in that foggy mirror? Takes therapy to figure that shit out! – mh

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