Secret

Secret


My therapist keeps telling me I'm brave.
He fixes dull eyes on mine, and I
look away. Not because I've lied,
but I've smiled through all that I can take.
And what is it exactly I should say?
Turn away from him and softly sigh?
Dabble at the corners of my eyes?
Or look towards the northern star and wait.

I think he's been sent here to revenge
my father's hands, which snatched up in a rage
when I was 5, the only friend I claimed;
a little tabby cat. Lucifer has sent
this mousy little man disguised as sage
to talk me clean of what my father's made.


CL Bledsoe

Posted over on Canopic Jar