resistance

time I spent, wasted

patient--unbearably

But I'm human

mind hadn't been given time to heal.

that to be a good

patient: one cannot be quite sane at all

That's what gives one sympathy--

gently and calmly

tearing

But my case is different

--shamefully,

a revelation

without the courage

in the dark

only as a piece

believed

persecuted imagination--like the enemy

expected

silence

weakly off,

quite ready

suddenly

it was like turning back

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I wrote this poem while I was in art therapy. I had experienced something I could not talk about and went directly in to the free studio. I found a book and began ripping pages out of it. And so, this poem was born. I think, of the three poems I wrote that day, it speaks most to the frame of mind I was in. Of the tug and pull of healing.