My therapist was created by murdered trees,
rolled and cut into sheets, stamped with
inked lines that guide our conversations.
He wields a metal spine, curled tight,
wrapped around my thoughts in attempt
to hold our sessions in one place.
I create my therapy sessions with plastic
tubes around thin sticks of led, topped
with a rubber mistakes eraser.
We make appointments daily, accumulating
emotions, finding their meanings, and the
outcome always seems to be poetry.
About: My website is marysawrites.wordpress.com
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