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Libby Gilbert

If you don't learn to write your own story, someone else will write it for you

27 poems·Since April 2020
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Therapy Session Part 2

April 21, 2020

Scribble goes her pen

I count to ten

She takes a sip

I bite my lip

Holding my blanket firm

I look up when I hear ¨long-term¨

Needing security from maternity 

This is what I never had as a girl

Not one care was given from a female

I exhale

Instead, I received a filthy pearl

I open up a new chapter

The lavender room fills with laughter

When I talk about my past

I'm scared it will go to fast

I want to forget this pain

All the memories filled with toxicity and abuse

I wish I could explain but…

There are no clues

I try to forget

All the times I was hit

I want to disregard

When she calls me a ¨retard¨

Her compassion replaces your impact

Her words have never attacked

The warm embrace 

Is my safe place

Tick tock goes the clock

I rush my words out 

There is never enough time

To explain the mother of mine

Not enough words can rhyme

To describe the result of her crime

This positive influence

Holding all this protection 

Is a new experience 

Filling a hole called “affection”

 

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