In Fear of Freud

By Willow Rose

When digging up graves of things long dead
in the deep subconscious within my head,
Beware of the spirits you have exhumed
my sense of self may be consumed;
Their fetid breath engulfs me now
with the pain of the past that I wouldn’t allow
to reach its crawling, grasping hand
into this facade I so carefully planned.
I packed it down with tears and sweat,
and now you say it’s not dead yet–
Oh! Let it rest! Please let it be,
I cannot bear this scrutiny;
A shapeless evil kept interred,
A Pandora’s Box locked and secured.

The weak insecurities that filled me with hate,
I learned to control; to sublimate –
and being forgotten almost ceased to be,
Now you’ve broken the locks and set them free.
As I tremble and shake
at this probing intrusion–
wondering
if all I thought real
was
naught
but
illusion.

©Willow Rose 2011

4 thoughts on “In Fear of Freud by Willow Rose

    • I find my heart racing just reading this; I am so glad, relieved, just now able to breathe as only someone very empathic and compassionate could respond to this “confessional” poem. Thank you for your heartfelt response, Pamela and feeling the poem as well as reading it. I wrote that right after leaving the office of someone who would take the pieces apart but never quite get them together. Writing was such a catharsis! love and light, willow

    • Thank you for taking the time to read and comment, Ron, and share a part of yourself as well. I lived with a professor whose best friend had been my psychology teacher and his favorite word was “histrionic.” I really could never win and finally gave up; this is confessional in a way that left me feeling like a puzzle in pieces; I never felt put together right and I have talked to a few women who felt the same. Of course many times people get into those professions since it is easier fixing others than fixing themselves. But…I do get analytical as a defense mechanism so I will stop right here and thank you again for your perceptive comments, as usual. Thank you, Ron.


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