THE DOCTOR IS IN

Iím Superwoman.
Well, not really, though I have been called that more than once or twice.
I can fix anything, and everyone loves me.
Supposedly.

I donít really care anymore,
Iím sad to say.
Not about much anyhow.

They all come to me to complain,
		And Iíll listen.
They ask for advice,
		I give it.

(Iíve even gone so far as to make note cards,
		in extreme cases,
Or write on peopleís arms, fingers, or sneakers,
		whenever they know what needs to be said,
		but have trouble finding the right words.)

They know thereís a part of me thatís sick of this.
I donít want to save the world,
One person at a time, all at once, or otherwise,
But thereís a part of me that canít stop.

I can hear it in their voices when theyíre sad,
And see it in their eyes when theyíre hurting,
Even if itís only teenage angst.

So I say ìTell me about it.î
He or she always seems relieved.

Then an imaginary door is unlocked and opened,
And imaginary lights are turned on.
The doctor is in.

- Melanie Aloi

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