If I could corral my wild mind, I’d lasso
thoughts of revenge that gallop in when
I’m not engaged in reading or writing.
If I could be mature enough to manage
my resentments, I’d file them in Manila
folders, stuff them in a padlocked cabinet,
and toss the key. If I could, I’d forgive
myself for years of servitude, that human
eagerness to escape from freedom, surrender
to a guru who knew everything about
everything, including publishing, although
he didn’t read or write books. He said all my
thoughts were neurotic. I was out of touch
with my emotions. When I was furious,
he decreed, You have no reason to be angry.
If I could let this go, I’d let memories dim,
open my fists, not want to kill him. He’s
dead. Although thirty years have passed,
I can’t forget. Some part of me clings
to upset, says, Not yet. Not yet.
Joan Mazza worked as a microbiologist and psychotherapist and taught workshops on understanding dreams and nightmares. She is the author of six psychology books, including Dreaming Your Real Self (Penguin/Putnam). Her poetry has appeared in Crab Orchard Review, Valparaiso Poetry Review, Prairie Schooner, Adanna Literary Journal, Poet Lore, and The Nation. She lives in rural central Virginia.www.JoanMazza.com
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Keep roaring!
FWWR Founder and friend,
Megan Febuary
Wonderful read! If possible, do check this https://open.substack.com/pub/ayeshali1/p/cutting-through-toxicity-choosing?r=22dbbw&utm_medium=ios