I Think I've Been Lying to My Therapist

and maybe you too. if you've been here before. if you haven't missed the glaring autobiography tag over all of my work. if we aren't still pretending this is anything more than me scribbling my mediocre thoughts onto the white page and calling it art. which i could talk about more, if it would mean i don't have to get to the actual point of this; which is that i have been so sucked in by the belief that i get to determine what i feel that i didn't fully realise i had stopped feeling anything at all. and this feels more like journaling and less like poetry every time i do it. which is to say poets are meant to have feelings which means i might not be one. which is to say i feel numb and tired and sorry but maybe the latter is just the ghost of all of my past selves shouting at me that i'll regret every time i do not apologize in a poem. which is to say this is still something i will call a poem because the numbness will let me and because i like the irony of it. which is to say i still like things sometimes. which means maybe i'll wake up in a few days and realise this was the lie. if anything that happens in your brain could be a lie at all. which is to say i'm self-isolating and all of my family is here and i haven't written in so long. which is to say i don't know what my point is or if there is one at all. which is to say i'm sorry.

-cgi.