The professionals act like
the theft of half my life was
no
. big
. deal
because
they didn’t mean to.
In a cloak of benevolence
under the guise of medicine
/ help / undercover
and POOF!
almost twenty years
gone
. just
. like
that.
My anger
no longer a symptom once
I left the reservation.
So, now what?
I challenge their ideas
and practices,
me with my brain still just in tact enough
to recollect.
Me, with anger enlivening my eyes
while I sit in their waiting rooms
like a threat.
They try and calm me
with kindness
they bill for and
take notes about
except I’m not in confession
anymore.
I know this is
not
. my
. church.
I’ve got to jump start my life
again like I’ve had to
before,
and begin
. again,
. and again,
. and again.
*****
