Short Therapists Poems
Short Therapists Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Therapists by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Therapists by length and keyword.
competing without terror or war - no therapy needed
NOTE: I was thinking marine life, even extreme environments: animals don't need therapists. Why?
Love has no corners
no sharp edges –
and if there are slopes
or valleys
we are so stood on our
heads, that all seems
to climb stars everywhere...
Indeed, love is not sane
but such out-of-mind
if a Constant
would save the world
from Therapists, and
pharmaceuticals.... Politicians?
but
I've had a mom that's real
In all the things that moms should do
And all the things moms feel.
I never had a real mother but
I've had a mother's love
I've had the kisses and the hugs
that the therapists speak of.
I guess I should be crazy with
the things that I've been through
but i have all a young lady could want
Because I have you.
---to: MAMA SAPP
Form:
I used to have epiphanies.
And the knowledge got used up and slapped me.
When I sat around in the waiting room?
I would wail while the old paintings turned out better than me.
I had another epiphany in that room.
And they screeched.
I don’t have a therapist anymore.
Wasted thorns.
Watered me down.
Even the old paintings in that waiting room…
Have more faith in therapists than me.
Physicists teach and talk
Physicians heal and walk
Physiologists exercise and specialize
Psychiatrists dramatize and immortalize
Psychologists observe and internalize
Therapists diagnose and mobilize
Radiologists scan and rock
Pharmacologists and Toxicologists mix and match drugs and block
Paleontologists, Neurologists, Meteorologists, Politicians, Philanthropists, Philatelists and the rest apply PHYSICS too... patch, flock and jock!
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.