Why are you late? Shall I tell her the truth?
This group is triggering my inner youth.
“It’s therapy, not school”; his voice in my mind,
Empathetic, understanding; painfully kind.
“Everyone here knows you’re just sad,
Not ‘deliberately disruptive’, or just plain BAD”,
But ‘homework’ and ‘record cards’ fill me with rage.
I thought I was free of that interminable cage.
A frenzied youngster storms in my brain,
Says: “They trick me, control me, revel in my pain”.
The urge is to be BAD; the WORST I can be,
Uncontrollable, insubordinate, disruptive, NAUGHTY.
Head on my arms, I WON’T pay attention,
But this isn’t school; there is no detention.
I have to be patient; do what’s required,
Now it’s my job to parent the internal child.
Though the myriad characters born out of trauma,
Collude to create distraction and drama.
Repeating rehashing old versions of me,
The rebellious child, the performing monkey,
The need to be “perfect” or a “perfect disgrace”,
Terrified to admit I need a slower pace.
I didn’t create the toddler in my mind,
But now I know she needs care; the responsibility’s mine.
Accompanying image: ‘Extremes of mood: Anger’.
Copyright Katy Matilda Neo 26/06/16