I am your shield,
against the world,
and against yourself -
beaten on all sides,
to keep your safe
as your heal your injury
to go back onto this battle field
a little more whole
a little more ready,
a little more strong,
with a little more knowledge
to face these opposing armies.
The attacks you meant for them -
they explode on me,
bright knives of heat and pain across my front,
I demand they not to meet my eyes.
I force it down into myself,
as I look into yours.
I am steady, and you are safe.
I understand these attacks are not meant for me,
even as I reel from the pain.
I protect you for their recourse -
one that time and maturity would tell you
does not need to be.
The attacks they meant for you,
they explode on me too,
arrows of fire, and bombs of dust,
the shrapnel of their words in my back.
Again, I demand pain not to meet my eyes.
I force it down into myself,
as I look into yours.
I am steady, and you are safe.
I understand these attacks are not meant for me,
even as I reel from the pain.
I protect you for their recourse,
one that time and maturity would tell you
does not need to be.
In this sterile world
of medicine and science,
we stand in the trenches with you,
mud and blood up to our knees,
a shield for you,
a respite to heal.
For that is who a therapist is made to be,
a shield,
a healer.
