My therapist told me to think of three good things to describe me
Nothing came to mind
I thought and thought, but nothing good
So I told her I was thoughtful
She asked for another and I spoke in a whisper
Remembering what my grandmother always told me
That I was kind
She looked at me, that therapist of mine
With a look that tried to be understanding and fine
And asked for one more word
Which was really hard
For there was nothing less
So I said I was deep
For there seemed to be
A hole that dug
So low
It left me empty

My therapist thought she understood the words I gave her
But she never really knew at all