A day at therapy and meditation,
to improve my train of thought,
we improve on something every Wednesday,
a new way of thinking, taught.
Today she complimented me in each and every way,
my head turns off, my ears can't hear,
The negative, more acceptable words to say.
Somehow this is trauma from my past,
since a child, people didn't last.
And so my therapist says I have an empty hole,
We need to fill it up, and make me whole.
I'm furious with my medications,
I'm tempted to throw them out,
this is a sucky way to live,
It makes you want to shout.
The side effects are numerous,
the hands shaking are the best,
blurry eyes, no appetite, from this I want a rest.
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Comments about this poem (A Day by Lilyann Monahan )
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Edna St. Vincent Millay
(22 February 1892 – 19 October 1950)
Oliver Wendell Holmes
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