He is off to devour the babysitter

No need for shoes in the summer heat

No need for pants inside the house

Three steps at a time, tiny claws awhir
Tyrannosaurus teeth aching to crunch the bones of his Brazilian prey



Sometimes I remember to move carefully around his loud, joyful willingness

Or I don't remember

And tear a fat chunk of adventure out of him with a stinging rebuke



But he is a T-Rex with two tons to spare

Maybe if my therapist was a Tyrannosaurus Rex
I would feel more comfortable speaking out loud,
Knowing that he wouldn't understand a word I'm saying, anyway

"I wish someone had given me an instruction manual for myself... When I was 5 my mom was concerned because I had no friends and it didn't bother me at all...
It would have been nice to know about my self-destruct button...
One day, when I was 16, I forgot to put on my bullet-proof vest and a beautiful boy (who had my heart on a keychain) shot me straight through the skull. No mercy... Is there a mirror around so I can see if there's still a hole there?
(I'd point to a picture) ... He hit me once.
... When I was 12, two girls who were supposed to be my friends held my head underwater in the swimming pool. And the adults just sat there and watched from the sidewalk as I struggled for air...
You know, it would have been nice if someone could've explained the functions I was designed to perform...
Because at this point
It's all guesswork-- am I mentally unstable?"

And the T-Rex would look up from his book, glasses shoved against his nose
And he would say,
"You've just spent the last 45 minutes talking to a dinosaur."

Elusive, you are.
Like a Tyrannosaurus Rex chasing a butterfly.

Destroyed.
By a mad dragon trapped in a rat maze.
Flailing, quaking, enraged,
You crumble.