The other afternoon I got a message
From a friend about my latest musing
He said he didn't understand the poem
And in fact, it was confusing
He told me how he'd read some others
And they made no sense at all
And he said, he'd fix my problem
And he gave me a number to call
As one who likes a challenge
And not one to turn away
I phoned the gifted number
That's why I'm here today

"Welcome to the Group Encounter
It's group therapy for beginners
Your problems we will fix
And will help make you all winners"
At least that's what the sign said
I felt like I was being led to slaughter
But, I told my friend that I would go
And if I say yes....I gotta!!
The room was bright and cheerful
No silly signs upon the walls
I saw nothing else of much importance
There were no chairs, just *****
Eight people came, we took attendance
Which I found funny, since no one knew
Our real names, or our problems
I stood behind a ball of blue
The leader was a man...a doctor
He said it was good to see us all
I smiled back, and gave a greeting
I remembered the silly sign out in the hall
He informed the group that at this meeting
We didn't have to say a word
I thought that wouldn't help me with my problem
But I might learn from what I heard
"My name is Bill, and I'm an addict
came a voice so soft and meek
I like ******* and thighs and *******"
"Bill, you say that every week"
For those of you new to our meeting
Bills a butcher, not a freak
He always says this as his welcome
I made a note...Bill's help..don't seek!!
"I am Julie, I'm an addict
I drink all day and through the night"
Now, we're talking..I was thinking
Here is someone who's not right
"Hello Julie"....we all answered
I was anxious for her tales of *****
But, what a downer was old Julie
She just drank milk, her tale's a ruse
Julie really didn't drink much
She just needed to get out
Her mother thought she was a loner
She's sit around the house and pout
Bill the butcher and our lactaid milkmaid
really made me wish I'd not
phoned the number from my buddy
Some magic beans...that's what I'd bought
I stood and looked upon the faces
I'll make up something for their ears
I stood and said "My name is Shecky"
"and what I'll say, will bring you tears"
"I'm an addict, a man of knowledge"
"I have to know what makes things tick"
"I know this meeting's for beginners"
"But, I am here because I'm sick"
I told them that I liked dissection
Like Bill the butcher, only more
I described a surgical procedure
And two folks ran right out the door
I smirked a bit, my act was working
I had them wrapped, intent and deep
Now into their heads, I would start working
And in I'd run, I would not creep
More tales of blood and carnage
Sent two more people on their way
The lactaid milkmaid made her exit
I thought for sure, she'd be one to stay
I talked for oh, say forty minutes
The doctor, stood, his mouth was wide
The others too, sat gobs wide open
I think a small dog would fit inside
The doctor said, our time was over
He'd pulled me over for a chat
"I think you need more than you'll get here"
"Did you really do that to a cat?"
I just grinned, I'd had some fun here
I'd not return, that much I knew
The night was not a total loss
On my exit, Bill said I could be a butcher too!!
I called my friend when I got home
I told him of the night of fun
He listened close to what I told him
And he laughed loud, at what I'd done
He told me he had learned his lesson
And my meetings tale was most amusing
From now on, he'd not dissect
And not look deep into my musings
I said my words were there to look at
To confuse your mind is not my task
But, if you like what you have read...please
click "like" or comment....that's all I ask.

Sometimes I look at you
And wonder, ‘Do you carry yourself this way when you're with your colleagues at work?’
If you ever read this you will know it’s you… and it’s the truth
And the truth ******* hurts
But honestly…
Sometimes I look at you and I think you’re ******* nuts.

i was afraid of my wobbling knees.
it's funny how everything gets magnified when you're in front of a crowd. One minute it's
a-okay if you trip, poke yourself in the eye, stumble on your words,
because that's normal
and you can laugh it off,
because there weren't any consequences
but the next minute
the light is blinding you--
                                      you have no one's eyes to reassure you, because you can't make out their faces--
and you're alone,
squirming under the microscope,
caught in the worst trap
if only because it's not customary to cry for help once you're there.

And your job is to reveal yourself, flaws and all,
red face and all
sweaty palms and all
through a melody,
your voice and every single one of your
indescribable, raging, nonsensical fears
(what if I throw up all over the front row? Or what if I knock the stand over, inflicting that poor man with a ****** nose in the process, and THEN throw up all over him??)
the only things slicing the silence.

Why can't I do something right for once in my life?
Why can't I be good enough for you?

Why can't you say you're proud?
Just a pat on the back.
Just one little  'nice work.'

Once.
All I'm asking for is once.
It'd mean so much to me if just one time,
You could make me feel like a priority,
Not an inconvenience.

The youth always seems to be more optimistic

Have you noticed?

But when it comes down to it,
there's always slight
negativity around us