A Child, A Punchingbag

     I didn't need her wrenching fists 
              Or ironclad arms 

       Inveterated by a punching bag 

                 A child,
              A punching bag

      My ardent screams called to you
  And I saw the tears you tried to hide 
          
 By whipping your head so jurkedly away 

    I didn't need the third therapist,
               Or the fifth 

           I needed the sixth

     The one the doctors made me see
                   
    Because she finally told them all 
     That I never needed any of them —
    
                        But just to be
               Finally, accepted as me.

      The thing I begged you for

                 I found somewhere else
                And I gave it to myself