a degree and he knows it all
summarizes me in a nanosecond
has me all figured out
simplified into a likely story
for someone else perhaps
but no sir, not for me
casually randomizing
careless comments tossed
into a common salad
the maestro takes words
and plays them back askew
creating his own new melody
with all his pomp and arrogance
he is the type that gives
the profession a bad name
AP: 3rd place 2025, Honorable Mention 2025
**Therapy Session**
Some people insist that a demon exists within all of us.
A rapist is nothing more than a thief,
And it's clear that some public defenders
Don’t have more intelligence than their clients.
Remember, you are not obligated to serve as a juror in every case.
With that understanding, creating a mental trend becomes straightforward.
It's astonishing to discover a hockey player who is anything but fierce
or a police officer controlled by fear and anger.
A cook without a kitchen is ridiculous
as tango without jingo—a philosophy that leaves no gaps.
The new breakfast drink is here: iced coffee
In the morning and mocha lattes all day.
Don’t interfere with the work that empowers us each day.
I am a woman who follows the warmth,
and I refuse to believe that a tree that doesn’t blossom is a worthless creation.
Yes, you can eat tree bark while the lark builds its nest on the ground.
A philosophy without any gaps stands strong.
——————————————————————————-
t he pool’s push l X l and pul l
b reaststroke or l X l hugging a tre e
t he weights and l X l noodle s
b ack and forth l X l I tread bare fee t
s imple sciatica l X l cur e
——————————————————————————-
I'm a poet
And I don't know it
My rhyme destroys
My pen is poised
To trickle out
Some tale about
A butterfly
Or sunset sky
As sweet as jam
With rhythm slam
Dunk in your tea
My soliloquy
I'm a poet
Happy to show it
So on your bike
As I drop the mic
You may have guessed
If you passed the test
As you peruse
This lyrical muse
That no comp will claim
This shot at fame
My Shakespearean blooper
Hardly 'poetry super'
When the quill is dry
Or my muse is shy
Or the peripatetic
Pen pleads "pathetic"
I turn in shame
When love's words are lame
Yet in hopeful reason
This may be the season
Of drought, no doubt
It may be a good shout
Though my lack I berate
Truth is; seasons rotate
To conclude, I am hopeful
I can re-shape the doleful
Convert all this stressin'
I'm a poet.
(no messin')
Black people don't do therapy
You'll be seen As a failure
They say we don't share out business with 'strangers'
But those 'strangers' are usually their children's saviours
They are like a safe place
Something their parents never gave them
A safe haven
See what these black parents don't realise
That if they don't start paying attention
To their children
They'll lose them forever
All because to them white validation
Is better than keeping their family together
Apparently they would rather give up their child to suicide
Than give up their pride
There’s something good about having this brain.
I like having a stain.
Sunday closes a lot of things.
As if businesses have wings.
There’s no such thing as a twenty dollar bill.
There’s no chatter on that window sill.
Laughing is all I wish to do.
You can’t shatter all my glue.
They gave me a blanket.
It costs nothing to cover myself with it.
Give me some money and I’ll buy bones and glue.
When you’re like me, there’s nothing to do.
I got a new head two years ago.
They told me I shouldn’t even know.
Therapy costs a lot these days.
Do you remember the haze?
Therapy is the only…
Way not to be lonely…
A whooshing sound…
A therapist looking around…
My therapist is drinking tea alone this Sunday.
So I am here until Friday.
better ways to heal
therapeutic poetry~
a dance of feelings
spoken verse trending
curbs obsessive impulses~
when we meditate
breathe in and speak out
demolish your obsessions~
share and overcome
Pull the shades
Dim the lights
Hear the snores
No response
Just the crickets
My art dulls you?
It's my therapy
Returned to the wooded place I shed tears
where speaking out loud without any fears
had no shame or guilt attached to the spew
birds deer fairies fae gathered by the few
looking on from afar allowing my release
so I can continue my self-healing in peace
it was therapy for my soul without any pay
evaluating how far I have come along today
sound of an ovation of clapping oak leaves
spiders appeared showcases web weaves
feeling appreciated never a moment before
time to leave because there's more to explore
this wooded place I will never ever forget
remembering it will be my perfect outlet
arrived with pain left with tremendous grace
how could I ever forget this imperfect place
At a certain point
You just learn
Not to take
The cheese.
Therapy again.
Every week.
All over.
Like pollen.
Falls onto my shirt.
Brushing my sleeve.
Empty brushing.
Then burning up, toxic burning.
My therapist asks about next week.
Shaking a bit.
Next week, I have a different appointment on Tuesday.
Wednesday is all the same.
I’m doing as horrible as ever.
Has anyone ever wondered why therapy is every week?
If I were an addict, I’d say I’m a therapy addict.
Shaking.
Horrible as ever.
My insurance will cover most of the bill.
Next week.
I ask if we can do it again.
She always has an opening for me.
I leave the sun-dappled autumn sidewalk, entering the office
The empty chair there lingers.
dark tendrils coiling in my mind—
my blind rage pleading for quiet healing.
flashbacks clash like striking thunder
opening buried treasures of truth.
and in that final brand searing cry
My heart reborn, mindlessly adrift in spectral mist.
I gladly depart as sleet glazes, streets so slick…..
Therapist
releases
patient
Chiropractor
not the only one
who yanks and pulls
Miami International Airport
has something most airports do not
they have trained therapy dogs
ready for hugs and cuddles
I am unsure how I can find one
but if I get to Miami, I will be looking for one.
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