A poem about Dr. C*******, the child psychologist my daughter saw for three years. He subjected her to psychological abuses and molested her on several occasions. She suffers damage to her psyche, emotionally and mentally, to this day. When my daughter was thirteen, she wrote this poem about C*******. I think she'd be pleased if I posted it. It was therapeutic for her to write it.
Mr. Condrell, you really smell,
You're a piece of shit
And you live with it.
If you touch my son,
Or go near my daughter,
I'll have you killed
Like a pig at a slaughter.
So, farewell you scumbag Condrell,
Why don't you go to hell?
And good riddance,
You lowlife.
*BE CAREFUL WHERE YOU SEND YOUR CHILDREN FOR COUNSELING OR PSYCHOTHERAPY. I WAS NAIVE AND TOO QUICK TO TRUST*
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
Inspirational poetry, written from the heart and soul. Verses that are well-suited for reading on a rainy day and that are guaranteed to bring a smile to your face.
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