I used to believe you were sugar and spice, everything nice.

I used to believe you were the answer to my prayers.

My God given blessing.

I used to believe I needed you.

Turns out all I needed was good, old, New York City health insurance,

The one that pays for the therapist who talks to me about my feelings and then complains she’s underpaid.

It’s crappy insurance by the way, but the therapist is nice.

Sometimes I turn to her and say, “And how does that make you feel?” when she begins to tell me about her boyfriend at home and how her coworkers belittle her or how her boss is being inappropriate, we can’t use the other words.

She turns and she laughs at how ridiculous I sound,

I think she knows I’m impersonating her though.

We both think therapy is hilarious, so we make puns and similes.

She says I’m like a broken, overflowing bathroom sink,

I think she thinks I’m fat.

She says it’s just her way of explaining that I feel so many emotions and I can’t stop them from flowing out of me, but I try to hold it all in but it’s too much for me so it spills all over the place and I refuse to fix the sink and pipes.

I think she just doesn’t want to call me fat.

But the guidance counselor at school said “my cup is overflowing” or something along those lines.

She also told me I need to pass my science class.

Maybe they’re right.

Anyways,

I think she thinks I’m fat too.

But that’s not the point, the point is I didn’t actually need you.

I needed therapy.

Anyways,

I saw you with that new girl you think is cute.

My therapist says I’m jealous.

But I think my therapist is just trying to get a raise so she’s trying to give me answers.

Anyways,

I hope you are happy.

Even if you aren’t sugar and spice, everything nice.

Because even mean people deserve to be happy.

And you’re pretty mean.

Not pretty, just mean.

Anyways,

I’m done talking to the illusion of you now,

Maybe I’ll try to remember everything I said and write down.

Maybe someday I’ll read it to you,

I’ll call this one,

Mr. Sugar and Spice