Connections
My mom takes me.
Therapists are very accommodating.
I talk with rhymes.
Waiting on slimes.
She walked through the door.
It started to pour.
She hands me a notebook thank you.
Therapists hate me.
But they collect a fee.
In the waiting room.
Connections of doom.
22 seconds later, I’m done.
I was writing, I wasn’t moving my lips at all.
She’s smiling, I’m sure of it.
She smiles me through the door.
My mom picks me up on Mondays.
She knows the way home.
She knows.
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