Dec 2017
She has butterflies for eyes
and candy corn for teeth,
rummaging through my innards
for anything she wants to keep;
like the omnipotent fingertips
of a sculptor with no name,
she sorts through my organs
like some twisted little game.
and candy corn for teeth,
rummaging through my innards
for anything she wants to keep;
like the omnipotent fingertips
of a sculptor with no name,
she sorts through my organs
like some twisted little game.
I wrote this poem about the time I spent with a particularly harmful therapist, and how it felt to be (at the time) a child sitting in her office.
