we are gathered in truce

to discuss our differences,

my therapist seated between us.

my roadrunner legs point

past the door in case. we

are gathered in truth,

because my therapist said

it was time to stop running, &

i pay my therapist too much

to be wrong, so i am here.

in case my therapist is right.

my monsters, coyotes in the

chase, look almost human

in the sterile office light.

my monsters say they just

want to be friends. i remember

when we first met, me & my

monsters. i remember the moment

i birthed each one. each time

i tried to shed a piece of myself,

it grew into a monster. take this

one with the collar of belly fat

around its neck, the monster

called Chubby, Husky, Big Boy.

i climbed out of that skin as fast

as i could, only to see some spirit

give it legs. i ran & it never stopped

chasing me. each new humiliation

coming to life & following after me.

after me, a long procession of sad

monsters. each monster hungry

to drag me back, to return me

to the dirt i came from. ashes

to ashes, fat boy to fat.

i point my feet to the nearest

exit, all my fire alarms go off.

my monsters crowd around me,

i stare into a no-fun house of mirrors

showing me all the angles i try

to forget. my therapist says i can’t

make the monsters disappear

no matter how much i pay her.

all she can do is bring them

into the room, so i can get

to know them, so i can learn

their names, so i can see

clearly their toothless mouths,

their empty hands, their pleading eyes.

my therapist says make friends with your monsters, José Olivarez

