#therapist
how is it that
the relationship we had
for four years,
and once ours -
could be deciphered
by my therapist,
a stranger
who understood me
in just an hour.
Apr 27
Apr 27, 2026 at 11:22 AM UTC
I love you
In a way that would worry a therapist
The kind of love that would thrill a poet
Love that would crumble kingdoms
I love you
In a way that would worry a therapist
When I speak of you
All others hear is me boasting
A speech worth toasting
Some say its smothering
Toxic love bombing
Manipulation rooting
Blooming in too vulnerability
Boarding on codependency
I love you
The kind of love that would thrill a poet
Words can never describe
Rhymes are the closest
Doing my best to do it all justice
How I want it to be just us
Able to dance in the kitchen
See a sun set with
Knowing you'll be by my side
When the sun rises
Worlds apart
With you it’s a fresh start
I love you
Love that would crumble kingdoms
I would burn empires
Just to see your eyes light up
Ignite a spark inside
Bringing you to the dark side
Like an executioner with his blade
I get the final say
This is no play
Bodies lay scattered
Peoples minds shattered
Heads roll
While me and you walk away
Never to stray
Ready to see the next crown fall
Mar 14
Mar 14, 2026 at 9:25 PM UTC
I know that I shouldn't
I know it's not healthy
Or at least that's what
My therapist says
But It's 3 AM
And I can't silence
The urge to Google
Your name
And though it's true
That beauty is nothing
Compared to your
Other virtues
I can't help to think that
You never looked as pretty
As you do at the cover
Of Forbes under 30
Feb 2
Feb 2, 2026 at 9:34 PM UTC
I’ve had so many therapists
their names blur together—
new offices, new chairs,
new promises that this time
someone would stay.
They tell me to open up,
so I do.
I unpack the heavy stuff,
lay it out carefully,
like trust isn’t fragile.
And then—
they move,
they switch jobs,
they say it’s “nothing personal”
like that makes it hurt less.
I’m always right at the hard part
when they leave.
Right when the words start to come easier.
Right when I stop flinching
at my own feelings.
They say I’m resilient.
That I’ll be okay.
But it feels cruel
to keep teaching me how to attach
just to practice letting go again.
I’m tired of starting over,
of retelling my story
like it’s a script I never get to finish.
Tired of needing help
and watching it walk out the door.
I don’t need someone to fix me.
I just need someone
who doesn’t disappear
the moment things get real.
Jan 28
Jan 28, 2026 at 12:02 PM UTC
“Am I allowed to be angry?
Tell me, and be honest,
am I allowed to feel?
‘Cause every time I open up,
your problems are a little larger.
And every time you complain,
I suffer a little.
I am not your therapist,
whose advice you don’t take.
I’m your friend.
Am I allowed to be angry?
Tell me, and be honest,
am I allowed to feel?
‘Cause when I let my anger
out in retaliation.
You are a little angrier.
When will I be allowed to be human?
When won’t I be a punchbag anymore?”
A.V.
May 29, 2025
May 29, 2025 at 1:36 PM UTC
Another year, another therapist.
Beginning at the age of 7 and not stopping ever since
Each therapist stealing a bit of my trust
Soon i start making up people to not just stay quiet
Scared of exposing my secrets
The failed attempts in achieving perfection
Or at least what 12 year old me thought was perfection.
The addictions, thoughts, experiences
All locked inside me
To only come out to strangers passing by
And taking the information with them
Keeping their mouths shut.
Dec 12, 2024
Dec 12, 2024 at 11:32 AM UTC
I was floating in honey.
The viscosity of the substance
Made it so that, while I still needed to work
To keep my head afloat,
I had a little extra support.
So I didn't have to do it alone.
And it was good.
But my temperature began to rise.
I became too hot too fast, and,
Because of my actions
I started to destroy the beneficial parts
That the honey needed to remain useful and healthy.
So the honey reacted:
Threw my melting self out of its jar.
I tried to jump back in
But the honey firmly ******* its lid back on,
And my charring fists
Fruitlessly pounded on the boundary
The honey had erected.
Then as my body and brain burned,
The other honey jars disappeared-
Distancing in acts of self-preservation.
I knew how I could get my temperature
Back to baseline.
I just needed a little help
So I could work to get back to my normal self.
But my actions had pushed away what I needed.
So I accepted the fate I had caused,
And allowed my body to fall to ash.
Nov 20, 2023
Nov 20, 2023 at 9:05 PM UTC
Suddenly you transformed
Into a broken mirror.
All of the ugly, fragmented shards
Of my soul
Staring right back at me.
Sep 7, 2023
Sep 7, 2023 at 11:42 PM UTC
I.
my lips
sewed together
with perfectly stitched thread
through thin needle holes
the wounds
still wounds
not healed
over the years
the daily torture
of wanting to speak
but not being able
to tell
II.
my hands
shaking
excessively clinging
to the thin rubber band
my voice
trembling
as i try to unwrap
one syllable after another
the aching in the throat
as i try to describe
in as little detail
the things i went through
III.
as soon
as the words
left my mouth
almost as silent
as a short breath
i leave
the room
you sitting there
trying to grasp
what i had just coughed up
and disappeard
directly after
realizing i actually did
IV.
i am nowhere
and everywhere
at once
i am there again
you try to unwrap
the tangled words
the things unsaid
the thoughts not spoken
i slip out of reality
and suddenly
i hear you say
loud and clearly
"It was not your fault. It never was and it never will be."
May 8, 2023
May 8, 2023 at 2:39 PM UTC
Tara grew up, planted
Firm in the loam
Like that southern plantation
A farm was her home
She shot up like a sapling
She swayed with the breeze
Wind scented with lilac
And magnolia trees.
Around her the horses
Needed nurturing care
Then they needed exercise
Tara was there.
Now a physical therapist
She helps folks along
When they are feeble
She helps them to be strong.
That's how I met you
It is to this end.
I need to be strengthend
I'm glad you're my friend!
💜 Cathy
Apr 1, 2022
Apr 1, 2022 at 1:45 AM UTC
I quit therapy, despite it helping me.
The place and time stopped being right.
I think she'd be so disappointed
I'm full of shame again tonight.
Jun 25, 2021
Jun 25, 2021 at 10:08 PM UTC
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.
May 29, 2020
May 29, 2020 at 3:30 PM UTC
Hey.
By the way,
I'm still alive!
And nothing happened.
A friend came by
She said hi
And saw my face all blackened
Like thunder in the desert,
I went hot-cold-BOOM!
Exploded
All over
Just the two of us in my room.
"So everything's okay, right?"
For another day, I guess.
I had a good appointment with my
Therapist.
Though this still presents a problem,
I can lay my head and rest.
Remembering that there will be
A new day coming.
Next!
May 28, 2020
May 28, 2020 at 8:03 PM UTC
i could tell you
for hours on end
how much i loathe myself
how every time i breathe
life feels like a disgusting virus
burrowing inside me
i could tell you about the days that i starved myself
hoping it would end me
i could tell you about the frightening speed
at which i can tie a noose
and you would never understand that i want to live
i cold tell you about my past
my real past
not california
but nine years of being beaten and neglected
then jumped around foster care
finally, finally getting a home
but you know how that is
and you would never understand that i need them
i know that i hurt you
i know you never felt like you should have
i know i never made you happy
i know i "got into your head" whatever that means
you know all of these things too
but you will never understand how much it hurt me
not you
you did nothing but try to save yourself
i hurt myself
its the only thing i'm good at
and i'm sorry you got hurt in the process.
Mar 31, 2020
Mar 31, 2020 at 9:50 AM UTC
Top 3 types of people who probably need a therapist
1. Poets
Have you seen the poems here?! Most are about pain, cutting, depression, suicide, ex’s, breakups, feeling too much, and so much more. Most of us probably need a visit to the loony bin!
2. Musicians
Again, y’all feel as much as an elephant weighs, which is a lot! This means you feel lots of sadness, fear, and anger. Also, all good songs are about an artists emotional angst. So, yeah.
3. Artists
No one can beautifully paint, sculpt, and draw naked people stabbing each other and still be sane. And also, what’s bad for the heart, is good for art. Art is filled with sadness, fear, and anger.
So, my point is, we’re all insane. Including me. See you at the wacky shack!
Nov 9, 2019
Nov 9, 2019 at 8:24 PM UTC
It is all about how we think
We fall towards what we lose
We love the one who is unreachable
We tend to forget who stays in front of us
We regret the chances we don’t take
We met the people who didn’t mean to remain
We touch the sky and hit the ground
We stand up again and lost in a crowd
Sep 5, 2019
Sep 5, 2019 at 12:16 PM UTC
I had to cut you off
not from my life
but from the way you use me,
as your drug
your medication
your therapist
your twelve-step program
because your process of healing,
has become your addiction
©L.F.
Aug 18, 2019
Aug 18, 2019 at 7:00 PM UTC