(Maybe) my gift
Is not for you?
Convince me.
And stop being jealous
Of my one on one
Relationship with me.
I just write,
And stay in my lane.
I don’t tinker my words
And rarely do I give my
Poetic pieces an oil change.

I write for therapy.

Call me selfish,
But my poetry will
Not speak to you
Live from the pages
Of a book or from
The innards of a
Booming speaker
Or leap from my
Lips to a mic
And whisper recklessly
In your ear.

I write for therapy.

I don’t study the greats,
Yet the attraction
Is more than physical.
I write for therapy.
Gradually flickering
Off the Polaroid pictures
Within me.
Some of my ugliest life
Experiences I purge.
And when the ink dries,
Its my relief,
The way I delete,
Please stay calm,
And on your feet
(I’ll freak this cliche)
Until I hit repeat.

I write for therapy.

Copyright 2012


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