You humiliated me with a promise of betterment
as I sank into the deep blue chair across from your desk -- your fasces of authority --
my eyes exploring your cold, clinical office of paid concern,
exploring everything but your own, set behind dark-rimmed reading glasses,
set upon me, translating me into words, diluting me into words,
degrading me into a page of words -- all symptoms and warning signs -- and then reading me as though I were but a chapter in the DSM-IV.
Brown eyes and hugs didn't phase me...all I wanted was help,
and all I got was you.
Author notes
Dedicated to Ms. Brown and Mr. Carson, who both pushed me into therapy and pushed me away from it as well. 
Written November 1st, 2005
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