I sit in a strangers couch,
looking at myself through his eyes.
Why are you here he asks,
as if he was the devil asking for my price.
He asks about my parents,
about mum and my absent dad,
he asks about my childhood,
if I am trying to find what I never had.
I am not comfortable, nor am I scared,
but I talk fast and in volumes,
as if we are friends and as if this is not weird.
I note that he is attractive,
but in a very obvious way,
I usually find that type boring,
but I am the one talking today.
He tells me he will be my sound board,
and I wish I was a little more sane,
but I pour my heart out,
and he says, please come back again.
I wonder where I am on the spectrum,
between broken and whole,
I wonder if he closed down for the day,
and said a small prayer for my soul.