control

my parents ask me what I need to fix. I don’t know where to start but their thinking is clearer and helpful than any of my own. my fixation with the worst weighs heavy on their hearts though they do what they can to prove nothing is too much for them to hear. we reduce every problem to a shopping list and the words do well to make them look so small. when we say goodnight I have to scan and take my items and I want to leave the trolley at the check-out.

I wake to singing birds and another hundred martyrs on my phone. there is nowhere to scream and nothing to do with the guilt and resentment I harbour for all I have and take for granted. the therapist tells me not to blame myself for choices I could change. I jump on the excuse. the last thing I thought I could control is now controlling me. we give the problem a name and invite him to the table. he looks and sounds too much like me and I want him to leave. I laugh and see myself in everything that needs to change.