My therapist hates me,
Pleasing him is
Finding a needle in a haystack,
I’m close to finding it and
[Hiss]. Son of bitch!
Anyway,
My therapist has a PhD.
In backhanded compliments
Dr. Poetry says:
“You’re so brave
For reading such a shitty poem
On stage.
Proud of you, my man.”
But who else can I talk to?
A real therapist? [Psht. Silence.]
Maybe I should. But- I just-
Want to conjure
Something so good that
I could read the audience’s awe
Goosebump braille.
It’s like gambling, you know?
99% of poets quit before
Writing their Magnum Opus.
I’ll get it next time.
– I Should’ve Gone to Clown College
WILDsound Writing Festival 