You need to see a shrink, she said.
Rage consumes you, eats you up.
You may be right, but rage is all
I have, it keeps me up.

All you have? What utter rot.
No, drama, that you have in spades.
Vituperations sprout
Like weeds from that great mind.

Want more? You see you have a lot,
Lot more than rage, bagfuls of hurt are yours,
Very logically brought forth, and laid out
For all to see and lastly hear about.

For hear, we do. You run the wheel
Of rants and rage and share with all
Much more than does us good,
For we are only part of that through you.

It’s true, I do attest that drama,
Rage and ego too are mine and mine alone.
Mix in a harshly judging mind and all
That brings along with it. And yet

When all I have is measured full,
Is it enough, enough to offer peace,
A calming of my mind, and salve
Then for my troubled soul?

Ah yes, your deeply troubled, drooping,
Loud-mouthed Soul. Its talking, spewing out of bile
Is but another gift of dubious merit, I ask
That you take this gift and pass it on to one

Who can if not enjoy, at least then comprehend.
And since you bring up that up,
that’s why you need to see a shrink:
To bring your deeply troubled soul under control.

You’re right: I need to take the cure,
The talking cure, to talk my rage out,
Out my bile, to talk and talk until
What’s left unsaid itself is all talked out.

If that’s control of the soul, true
(Self) control, I’ll take its toll.