Second therapy session.
My therapist says
“You have issues with control. ”
How do I control these feelings when my life is not mine to live?
I’ve no more control than the next man.
Playing back seat driver in my own ride.
Mine own body ain’t been mine since time was.
“What do you mean?”
I am the captain of no ship, my soul set sail long ago on voyages unknown to my heart.
Tugging at these strings, desperate for some semblance of autonomy.
Whoever is running things has been doing a shit job!
“You have issues with anger”
“Doc, I’m a Black man in Amerikkka, of course I’m angry”
The void swells, the static builds
“You’re too young to be so angry”
“I call it being woke”
“Maybe you should sleep a little bit”
There’s the void once more.
A head tilt, that warm smile.
Sudden word vomit.
Innermost intricacies tumbling forth
Filling the void at an alarming rate.
My voice quickening, am i even breathing at this point?
Almost to the breaking point, my stomach winds around itself,
Binding from within, ready to snap
“Let’s stop there. That’s enough progress for today.”
Shit. Just short of a breakthrough.
Those knots dont fade but hold tight
That last good nerve snaps and withers away.
Those answers dont lie like sunken ships in bottles, but hide in linings of clouds not quite silver.
Psssh at least I’m on my way.