Therapy

A Poem by olympiuslu

"Death was waiting to caress my very thigh"

Every Monday I sit on your blood-stained chair

and you move away the hair

that has covered my face.

The hair

that I cannot move

by myself anymore.

I told you

how I once met a man

who showed me that death was waiting

to caress my very thigh.

Leaving me with bruises

Like some sort of ripe and juicy fruit

I taste so good

but you just spit me out.

You said you could help me

but you have taken advantage

of my mind

taking everything out

that made me who I am

and scattering it

all onto the floor.

© 2018 olympiuslu

Author's Note

I know I haven't posted in a while I have been so busy! However, I hope to get back to posting and reviewing regularly soon. For now, I wanted to post this poem that I finished a few months ago.

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Featured Review

barleygirl

We miss you when you're gone. Hope you can fit in some more writing soon! This is a top-notch poem. I love every word. It's so unexpected & a little bit shocking to open up with the blood on the therapist's chair . . . that one visual made me reel as I thought of how every person sits there & spills some blood . . . that is so brilliant & there are other similarly brilliant passages thru-out. Spitting out bruised fruit . . . that whole passage made me reel with memories of the ones who spit me out in real life . . . what a dynamic thought-provoking metaphor. Please read request me becuz I'm old & forgetful . . . I will forget to read you if you aren't here often. Love it when you drop in (((HUGS))) fondly, Margie