What could I do to take your pain away?
You counsel others, but it’s yourself you’re talking to.
I see you nervously fiddle with your wristband--
I’m pretty sure I know what you once tried to do.
I wish I could share my healing skills--
there’s no one whom I want to help more.
But we’re far apart. It’s me who is helped by you.
Someone else must unlock your secret door.
Freud once said: It is love that cures the patient.
But can we truly love at will?
Take the love that’s freely given,
and banish what has made you ill.
For J. Hey y'all, since 1,600 of you have looked at this poem, perhaps a few more of you could tell me what you thought about it.