The Pyshcologist


My grey hair tie twist
frantically around my fingers.
Sitting in your office, 
unsure what you search for.
Mind wandering to other
places, people and things.
Glancing up, realizing you
have ask a question.
Appreciating your 
patience, I suppose.
A virtue I have
never possessed.
Wait. Why ask as
if I know the answer?

Bitch mode kicks in,
refusing to allow cooperation.
Asking you a question now.
Hell, let’s not waste time. 
Straight to the point.
Isn’t that why I was sent here?
Insomnia since age 12.
Living my life,
touch of O.C.D.
Thousand elephants
trample my chest,
sweat forming like
I just ran ten miles.
Tightening of my
throat, panic attacks.
Glorious highs,
devastating lows.

Million dollar question.
What medicine would
help now? Because
the other’s worked
so well. Which is the
reason my grey hair
tie just snapped.

@donetta sifford 1-6-2013

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