A poem for a clinical psychologist
As real as the world is now to me,
It is really just a fantasy.
For years my heart bled endlessly,
Perhaps it's time to let it be.
To err is human, to love is divine,
It is to me, I can't define.
To trust once more, despite the pain,
To be safe is better, though alone again.
Billions of soul, alive and dead,
Left many things, undone... unsaid.
Is to know privilege, is ignorance bliss,
That is the job of a clinical psychologist.
Have a nice day!
THE FLYINGFOX
It is really just a fantasy.
For years my heart bled endlessly,
Perhaps it's time to let it be.
To err is human, to love is divine,
It is to me, I can't define.
To trust once more, despite the pain,
To be safe is better, though alone again.
Billions of soul, alive and dead,
Left many things, undone... unsaid.
Is to know privilege, is ignorance bliss,
That is the job of a clinical psychologist.
Have a nice day!
THE FLYINGFOX
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