Odes to Vices · Track 44 · middle
Lucinda Who Wears Her Therapy Words Like Earrings
Drops "boundaries" and "holding space" at the brunch table. Her therapist is one part insight, three parts vocabulary.
Lyrics
[Intro] [Verse 1] Lucinda at the corner table, June 12th, 10:47 AM. Mimosa in hand, silver hoops brushing her jaw. Sarah starts on her breakup, the one with Tom last Tuesday. Lucinda leans in, says "holding space" like it's a gift she wrapped. The words swing, polished, from her lips. [Chorus] Oh Lucinda, your therapy words like earrings, Dangling bright, catching every eye at brunch. Boundaries you drop like sugar packets, One part insight, three parts shine. Do they hear you, or just the clink? [Verse 2] Mark mentions work stress, the deadline on the 15th. She nods, "self-care ritual" rolls off her tongue, As if the phrase is a charm bracelet jangling. The waiter refills water, ice cubes chime against glass. Lucinda's earrings catch the sun, therapy on display. [Bridge] In Dr. Ellis's office, Thursday at 3 PM, Those words were tools, hammers and nails. Now they're jewelry, worn to the farmer's market, To the yoga mat unrolled in Prospect Park. What does "trauma-informed" mean over eggs Benedict? [Verse 3] Friends exchange glances, forks paused mid-air. Lucinda doesn't notice, adjusts her left hoop. "Emotional labor," she says to no one's question. The bill arrives, split evenly, resentments unspoken. [Outro] Lucinda walks home, words still gleaming. The mirror in her hall reflects them back. Pride in every syllable, worn just so.