One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest---Jude Kyrie

My therapist confirmed how broken I was. 
She threw her hands up in the air. 
You do not want to lose your demons she said. 
You wear them like jewelry adorning your soul. 

She was so right I like my wreckage 
I want all my mess because it's me  
it's who the fuck I am. 
So if that makes me less lovable  
So be it. 

I let my poems be my therapy anyway. 
They say what I feel . 
They shout who I am. 
And they never judge me 
for being fucked up and 
for not healing  
exactly like
the rest of the herd.