The nutritionist said I should eat root vegetables,
Said my head would not keep flying away to where the darkness lives.

The psychic told me my heart carries too much weight,
she said, “Stop worrying, darling, you will find a good man soon.”

The first psycho-therapist said I should spend three hours a day
sitting in a dark closet with my eyes closed and my ears plugged.
I tried it once but couldn’t stop thinking
about how gay it was to be sitting in the closet.

The pharmacist said Klonopin, Lamictal, Lithium, Xanax.

The doctor said an antipsychotic might help me forget
what the trauma said.

The trauma said, “Don’t write this poem.
Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.”

My bones said, “Write the poem.”