Self TherapyMature

Self Therapy

I forget now,

What that day's dispute,

It was about,

But that night,

I lay awake,

My mind too busy,

For me to sleep.


Though this was rare,

It occasionally happened,

Though this,

It hadn't occured,

Since I was twenty one,

And I was annoyed,

For this temporary insomnia,

It was my mom's fault,

For saying silly things.


I am not condoning,

Me arguing with her,

Even slapping her,

Though this was now rare,

Yet saying I should go off,

With those who supposedly love me,

When she knows I can't,

Is hardly the answer.


I knew if I did not get any sleep,

The following morning,

I would have a pounding headache,

I knew that from experience,

For it had happened,

The summer of when I was twenty one.


I imagined Aunt Premala,

Dressed in her gorgeous sari,

Her long black hair all loose,

Come in to my room,

And sit at the end of my bed.


In my mind's eye,

She said to me,

That I need to get some sleep,

Stay with me Aunt Premala,

I mentally called out,

Reaching out,

To clasp the air.


Of course child,

She whispered,

In my imagination,

She leant over,

And kissed my forehead,

Sleep now,

I will stay with you.


I turned over,

Onto my front,

Crossed my arms,

Placed my head on it,

Shut my eyes,

And imagining Aunt Premala,

Sitting on my bed,

I fell into a peaceful sleep.

The End

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