How many therapist’s does it take to change a lightbulb?

None.

The lightbulb has to want to change.

I never knew what happened, but I guessed that it was bad.

By the way you laid there moaning behind eyes that were so sad.

You asked for money for the bus, I just coolly walked on by.

You yelled that if you had a gun then I could wave goodbye.

I know that nothing happened, it’s just drama in your head.

It’s just my daughter heard you say that you wished her father dead.

A method for gauging the durability of a product before taking it to market was testing and retesting to determine the breaking point.

People with Borderline Personality Disorder employ a similar strategy with relationships…

This has been a public service announcement by someone who has had their fill.

That hollow dread that lives in the pit of the stomach… I remember this however it’s been years.

Dread

Fear

Uncertainty

Churning.

As much as I loathe the insanity of others, I fear this is what they deal with constantly.

We sleep in on our Sundays…

No one here is left behind.

It’s not a religion.

It is a blessing.

I prayed today like always.

In private.

No, I don’t care about your opinions.

Not like before.

You are fading in a distant galaxy.

Not like it was before…

All smiles are fading, an all knowing wink. 

There’s miles to go now. It’s swim now or sink.

She’s hugging the monsters. Dragging them down.

She’s sharing her love.They’re learning to drown.

The streets now are empty, it’s friday downtown.

The monsters are running. Love come to town.

She said, “We are all love and light.”

I suggested she sell crazy somewhere else.

I watch people escape the urban jungle and madness to peaceful soothing nature and return as if their experience is universal.

A few minutes in rush hour public transit and Mrs. Love and Light will be right back to rage against the masses.

There once was a dancer named Wayne

Who walked with a limp from his pain.   

He’d dance day and night.        

His insanity his plight.

Said, “The light in the tunnel it’s a train.”

                     

                              

She was lovely in that sunshine. Said she was searching for a song.

It wasn’t the words or melody or the need for right or wrong.

She was searching for some meaning or a feeling in her heart.

But that train had left the station and it was tearing her apart.

I told her it’s time to kneel, when all else fails pray.

She thanked me for mansplaining and I just said ok.

There once was a protester named Karen.

She’s protesting and hating and glarin.

She’s making things right.

Not her fault she’s white.

She’s just so damn smart and she’s sharin.

Dennis Mantin