Therapy

Sitting there with the psychiatrist,
My weekly session of therapy,
These cosy little chats between us,
Always about me.

Talk about my feelings,
My thoughts, my dreams,
Yet still no one understands
My endless, mindless screams.

Never understanding
How alienated I feel here,
Never the same as anyone else,
My life lived out in fear.

Fear of how it is,
Fear of how it could be,
Locked in this world of hate,
With no hope of being free.

So, no, I don't want to talk
About how I feel, what I see,
You simply can't understand
What its like to be me.

What its like to live in this my mind,
Understand what its like,
To know you're trapped somewhere you don't belong,
Unable to shout or fight.

I no longer see any of the beauty,
The simple joys of this world,
I see only the pain here,
Souls twisted, torn and curled.

© Copyright of Holly Nia Goodson