YOUR THERAPIST

Your therapist knows nothing about me
and this is a thought I cannot stand.
How could I have left so little impression on you
that your mental health professional could not recognize me in a line-up?
What must I do, to be spoken of
in your most holy of places,
on the couch?


Must I abuse you,
amuse you
peruse your private papers
to be brought to the table?


I want you to talk about me to your therapist.
I want you to ask about me to your analyst.
I want there to be queries about me to your counselor.


Should I write about you
fight with you
spend endless nights crying out your name
to gain this unique fame?


I want to know. I need to know�
I thought I'd been good to you
(and bad, when necessary)
I comforted you when you were sad,
brought you from miserable to glad
and though I know it'll make you mad
I want your shrink to think about me.


I want her to ponder
I want her to wonder
I want to be under the metaphorical microscope
probing prodding
practicing ways to deal with me.


I want to be the subject, the object of your diatribes.
I want you to talk about me to your therapist.
And, tell you what:
If you do, maybe I'll talk about you�

2005 - 2004 - Late 2003 - Early 2003 - Late 2002 - Early 2002 - 2001

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