because I knew my therapist was right
and I wanted to keep being wrong.
I wanted to keep my bad habits
like charms on a bracelet.
I did not want to be brave.
I think I like my brain best
in a bar fight with my heart.
I think I like myself a little broken.
I’m ok if that makes me less loved.
I like poetry better than therapy anyway.
The poems never judge me
for healing wrong.
I don’t know if a metaphor
could ever bring you to see that
all I ever wanted was to write something
beautiful and hope you’d read into me
I’m 2⁄3 loneliness and a fraction of
recklessness on some nights when nothing
adds up. All I know of love is that I fall too
hard and kiss the scars I’m left with to remind
myself that at least something about you
could be permanent
Yes, I think that is very appropriate and professional. Good luck(: