there's a woman with a face. that looks just like mine.
she put me into therapy.
even says she loves me.
she put me into therapy,
after me explaining explicitly,
the ways in which i hurt.
the ways in which i hurt mentally.

this woman. 
i appreciate what she did.
for i have friends who have women
(not women with their faces, but women nonetheless)

who ignore that they have the comprehension to put a name to the ways in which they feel-
(depressed. low. ready to let life go)

for silly reasons like that they might have learned what it's called on the digital spherical wheel.

so, 
this woman.

that put me into therapy.
this woman.
is the same one that adds to the pain she tried to rid from me.

my mind is confused.

how do you look at me, oh woman?
and just walk away?
for goodness sake! i have your face!

i have your face, 
and you kindly sent me to another woman 
( i don't take it for granted)
for pills and grace.
and she gives me them,
and you try to dress me in frills and lace.
and tell me not to cut my hair.

you told me everything on your mind for years and can't look at me in the summer.
how in the hell could i possibly ever recover?

not even when i go back to the other woman,
with the room with the AC and the comfy chair. 
the woman with the pills and the grace and the wild hair.
not even she can help me...