Slumping in the big black chair,
I close my eyes with hopes to spare
myself of recognizing where
I was sanctioned to be.
Buzzing silence consumes the room,
refusing to let speech presume,
the pending awkwardness abloom,
but it matters not to me.
With invisible thread and all my might,
my lips and tongue are sewn quite tight,
no thoughts of mine to come that night
giving no avail to thee.
“When you’re ready” he insists,
as I clench my quaking fists,
he jots things down upon his list,
things that I cannot see.
I count to ten and start to breathe,
hoping that soon he’ll let me leave,
unsure if I should just reprieve
this sessions therapy.


2 thoughts on “Stubborn

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