Tightrope

I feel emotionally precarious.
Currently, I am in between therapists.

It’s the second of air between trapeze hands.
If I fall, I’ve a net of tools where I’ll land.

Anxious yet confident I know my shit.
I know this transfer…where, when & how to hit.

Stick to routines & thrive a day at a time.
Speak up & push-back…you know I prefer rhyme.

I’d not shrink from leaning on those I respect.
I’ve asked to talk…& get indirect neglect.

I say all of this with a nod & a wink…
I’ve got therapy, if there’s paper & ink.