What will a theripist do?

Listen to my problems and tell me they'll end?

Talk to me as if their some kind of friend?

Searching for something I don't want found

Something I left behind deep inside of my mind

 

What will a counsular do?

My mind is not a puzzle that can be put back

Every word feels like a personal attack

But what if I am just a puzzle

An enigma wrapped in a riddle

Solved to easily, to neatly

Hiding the judgement so discreetly

 

Someone who knows only the surface of my skin

Can somehow see the things I keep within

What will a phychiatrist do?

Take the laces from my shoes and throw me in a sterile room

Put me on meds and then without them I'm doomed

 

I don't trust therapy, but it might be the only things that helps

I don't trust the smiles that wait and the gentle nods

The probing questions that peel back my layers

They say it's part of healing

A stranger with a pen scribbling notes all to reavealing

Of all the thoughts I hold dearly