I tell my therapist my brother killed himself

She asks if I am angry, I say no

 

She wants to know what I am

Jealous, I say

My therapist asks me if I am suicidal

 

I say no, I only want to die every day

She fails to see the difference

 

I insist that she is wrong

The gap is monumental

 

If I were a planner, perhaps, or a warrior at heart

My brother was a planner, for all of his flaws

 

Where I am merely a dreamer, all wants and desires

But I am a bright orange cone on the highway with my eyes closed

A slippery when wet while pouring water in the streets.

 

My therapist says why fear, if you are not afraid to die

She doesn’t understand it isn’t death I fear