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
If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog to the e-mail 

2 thoughts on “Therapy

  1. I never understood therapy, though I understand poetry. 🙂

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