My therapy poem

My therapist has a blue guitar
And an office by the train
He quotes the prophets and the saints
Of Galilee and Austin
Outside the trains keep rolling by
As I pour out my pain

He prays with his blue guitar
And I pray with my pen
He says I’ll find hope someday
If I tell my story again

Hour by hour upon this couch
How do my doubts compare?
I try to listen, try to learn
From music and from tears
I think of all the other souls
Who daily climb these stairs

He prays with his blue guitar
And I pray with my pen
He says I’ll find peace someday
If I tell my story again

I offer up my tale of suffering
To fellow sinner, scruffy seer
He strokes his chin and pauses for
The half past five express
So what would it be like, he asks,
To turn and face your fear?

He prays with his blue guitar
And I pray with my pen
He says I’ll find love someday
If I tell my story again

How has he found the extra space?
To keep our stories in his heart
Comic, tragic twisted plots
Endings still unwritten
I just want to breathe each day
Without falling apart

He prays with his blue guitar
And I pray with my pen
He says I’ll find myself someday
If I tell my story again

I feel as if a hand has led me
To this room above the rails
With moldy air and broken lights
And those eternal trains…
But miracles can happen if
You find a way to tell your tale

He prays with his blue guitar
And I pray with my pen
He says I’ll find God someday
If I tell my story again

I know I’ll find God someday
If I tell my story again

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