Therapy Chronicles; The Upstart

The man- boy with drainpipe trousers

Talks too much

He claims the title of “empath”

And we know

So often narcissists hide behind a kind face

His is transparent and whorls with hipster beard

I hear the rub of his insincerity

Like familiar chaff

How easy to see the game pieces

When from the stage you step back

 

I am tired and old

I am young and quick

I am neither witness nor undertow

But some approximation of emotion

Observing sand-dial without taking turn

Til his upstart urges ego

To fill space with his lust to be seen

 

I let him know

You may have some fooled but I hear you gobble

Fat as Thanksgiving goose

Sucking all the air from the room

Hungry in unsalted desire to hear your own voice

Like a spoilt little boy, thin on holiday treats

And I long to switch you off with a flick

That others may speak and consider

Instead of your incessant bearded drone

Convinced you are humble prophet

why are the least, the ones who believe themselves the most?

Such delusion winds your faulty key

No words can find together to fabricate

The proof of your concave mouth

Slurping sound like a tin penny whistle

 

In years to come you may learn

When you meet a young version of yourself

Less is more

Save the pompous for Charades

Cut the roast, Pat the dog, be thankful for not

Gloating on naught

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Lingua

Show your tongue to me

Let me tell you

How you are

Roll up and discover

The underside

Where panther unfurls

Too hot in the sun

We wear our outside smiles

With blisters hidden

Connected in swallow

Board a bus, get out

But the breath will know

Shallow 

Deep

An ease in this hope

There is clear air ahead

Just breathe

Away the false

What cannot be spoken aloud

A sore throat is never 

Just a sore throat