Poems from Deborah Pless

my psychopharmacologist

it’s very possible that my psychopharmacologist

is stealing my words at night

it’s not the drugs

it’s him, my psychopharmacologist

when I’m sleeping he crawls through the window

through the cracks in the whining air conditioner

and he snatches them with his scalpel

I’m sure he has a scalpel

he’s cut the words right out of my head

sometimes I wake up

and I see him, but he says he’s not real


give me back my words, you fucker

or I swear I won’t go to group in the fall

it’s a shame too because

he’s a pretty good psychopharmacologist otherwise

cute baby, good job

my first love had his second child last week

and all I thought while I looked at the photos was

does his wife know that I’ve seen his dick?

not recently, obviously

but, like, I did see it

it’s not a nice thought, I’ll admit

they looked very happy

I’m sure they’re happy

I’m happy

but, like, does she know?

cute baby, guys


to whoever stole my bicycle seat:

fuck you

steal the whole bike

you coward

About Deborah Pless

Deborah Pless is a graduate of Hamilton College and completed her Master's in creative writing at New York Film Academy. She has previously been published for her nonfiction work and currently works in youth mentoring and advocacy in Massachusetts.


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