Learning to Trust

Eleven years of therapy,

I’ve turned into

a couch that wears

a girl. I think

my brain has windows

and the black birds fly

in and out leaving droppings

of my soul on lecture pads.

Eleven years, they ask and ask,

their faces overlap, I’m sure

I’ve answered this before,

his words weave spider webs

to catch my lies.

I look down. I fear

his gaze might peck out my eyes

like birdseed.

I know these shoes

and stare at them

until they turn

to black birds.

Published by sarcasticfringehead

I'm an adult survivor of child abuse who documents therapy; a yellow brick road to hell.

10 thoughts on “Learning to Trust

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