Now we see the moon
We see the star's
For when it Is night
We all notice the beauty of the moon
Never the less that beauty has a voice
That voice moves like wind that carry's message...
The whispers of the moon
cool, cold, calm and it claims
reading the moon is more like
Preparing for news
For we don't know the information it carry's
But when we listen we learn
For we all think that the moon is harmless, cool, gentle, humble
But the whispers are deadly
For it vengeance is a silent one
The cold wind that pass through you
Your home are whispers of the moon
Which strip off
Now you are naked with a humble shame
It comes like music to your ears
That allow it friend to rain
To rain down and wash all evil
Thou the moon show mercy
It never show mercy to those who show no mercy
The moon is calm
But the whispers is disaster
The king of the night!
The moon
And his rod his whisper..

I lean into your embrace.
Rough hands press into my chest,
my heart begins to race.
"Who are you?" I ask.
A band begins to play
panic chords set the bass
while
stress is added to the disarray.
Barely a whisper,
you say,
"Fear"

I talked to my therapist today
for the 7th time
it was like the 2nd, 4th, and 5th times
where I felt and listened and talked and explained and felt
but it wasn’t like the 1st, 3rd, or 6th times
because I didn’t feel better
The 7th time was like the 7th time
It matched the circular stencil I trace
when I try to fix myself in my head
I was me during the 7th time
But something
had turned my volume down

The other times I wore a smile hard enough to make her think I’m kind and interesting  and okay like I do with everyone
This time though, I was being held by my brain like an ant in a glass box
And the heavy invisible walls of the glass box are like my emotions that make it harder to breathe sometimes
and I repeated a lot of what we discussed during the 1st, 3rd, and 6th times
not because I wanted or needed to talk about it again
but because it pokes a finger in that spot between my shoulder blades and whispers to me all of the things I want to change about myself
and so on the 7th time, i used my vocal cords to let those words out
so maybe they’d be a little quieter

These whisper words are the things I didn’t know about me until I turned 13 or 14
and I started to become a whole person
The whisper things are those small strips of adhesive in between the big pieces that make a whole person
like the parts of a special coffee mug that
was broken and got glued together, but will probably never really hold coffee again
it may look good on a shelf
or bring back a fond memory
when you see it tucked away in the cabinet
But it won’t ever function
the way it was crafted to
Because something broke it
And used cheap glue to put it back together

But this was only the 7th time
And I’m hoping
that by the 8th time, I can tell the ant to leave the glass.
I want to tell my breath to come and go as it pleases
And tell my back not to hurt
because it is a good back
and my lungs are good lungs.
And that voice that whispers
It isn’t my voice
But is the voice of broken coffee mugs.

Maybe I will believe it after the 8th time.