Tales of a Future Doctor

They say “Doctor, Doctor, give me the news”. But this Doctor, Doctor needs to sing her blues

The flow of the pencil swaying on my notebook feels as good as aceing that final test. It’s a coping mechanism that relives the stress.

It’s a way for the healer to heal herself; my soul, it’s relieving. The drop of antacid for a stomach; the pacemaker that keeps the heart beating.

It keeps me in remission from a disease I call negativity. The morphine I take that strengthens my mortality.

The writings each poem relieved the pain when nothing else knew how. The drug that gave me a high- a high that couldn’t bring me down.