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Therapy

A poem I wrote from '15.

In a dusty old building with cloudy dark halls,

I travel up the broken elevator

To a brightly lit room with drawings on the walls.

Drawings of sunshine.


I flip through a stack of literary magazines.

I pick the skin around my nails until it bleeds.

I feel like a turtle running out of its shell.

None of this feels natural to me.


I wait for the woman with the fake smile,

With teeth as white as ice,

And eyes like hidden cameras.

I waste every dollar I have on being judged.

Read next: La Gala
Kaitlyn Maura
Kaitlyn Maura

My name’s Kait. I would define myself mainly as a truth seeker. I write about a lot of things, primarily astrology, religion & spirituality, relationships, psychology, feminism, social issues, books, music and the occasional bad poem. 

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Therapy
Read Next
La Gala