Human

 

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We are all born, and mostly buried without hats on our heads. In my therapy office, I experience this in a deep way (thus many of the poems I write under this hat are also under “Psychiatrist”). In my office, the Orthodox Jewish woman in her wig, the intimidating businessman in his well-cut suit, the (to me, a woman from the Middle East) terrifying soldier in his uniform..They all come into my office, and eventually trust me, and let their guard down..and they wearily take off their hats, and rest them on my desk, and sometimes rest their bald heads too.

And when we look into each other’s  eyes, all our fancy hats don’t matter. We recognize each other and we cry together, for  our common suffering, and for all of humanity.

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