Image Narrative Poem 

Confession to my therapist

by Sierra Voiles

​

Beautiful baby blue pill, 

it goes down so fluidly. 

Promising parallels of happiness 

in a 25-milligram dose. 

Still, I’m only a hangman, 

tied to the tree of shame.

A nest I’ve neatly built

to safely cradle the hate 

that resides within these sunken bones.

Burning waves of vulnerability, 

have me foaming out the mouth.

Frantically swallowing words,

and the pill kissing my tongue,

Slowly drifting to the underworld--

forever experiencing emotionless, internal suffering. 

 

Wondering if there’s more,

besides consuming candy-colored pills,

getting on knees for men 

who pluck preciously at the petals

freeing parts of her to decompose on Earth.

Scribbling down confessions

falling freely from loose lips,

so ashamed of this feminine being

that she has to hide her true self