MY THERAPIST IV

My therapist tells me I can't talk about incest anymore

about meeting my cousin for drinks

and getting her drunk

and getting her in an alley

and getting her against a wall

and getting busy...

My therapist says I shouldn't talk about it.

My therapist says I can't talk about murder anymore

when I get cut off on the highway

and I follow the bastard back to his home

and watch his peppy little family

and wait through the next morning

when he leaves for work

and I take the tire iron out

at the toll plaza

and I smash his windows

which are the eyes to his soul

and then I start work on his soles

and his shins

and his kneecaps...

My therapist says that's out.

Plausible deniability, my therapist says.

My therapist says I need to police my words

which will help me police my thoughts

which will make it easier to live

a happy, productive life.

My therapist says not to talk about the bad stuff

the cruel stuff

the horrible internal stuff.

No death, no sex, no crime.

I can't talk about any of it.

But she didn't say I can't write about it.

previous - next - contact me - older entries - latest entry - profile