I don’t need an outlet.
Fuck off, doctor.
You only know what I tell you.
And I don’t tell you all that I do.
I’m a vault for the things
That need a home.
Like all of my black, unrelenting pain
Dragging me under, leading to more of the same.
I only come to talk
About the feelings that have words
Because the ones down in the hole
Are too hard to describe and tear at my soul.
So take what I offer
And try to help, please.
I pay for your empathy and your ear,
Not to be lectured and doused with good cheer.
© 2021 Jeff E. Brown. All rights reserved.
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