Poem: Graduation

At your graduation,
I clapped
when your name
was called.
I remembered
how proud I was to
receive that rolled-up
diploma written in Gothic font.

I collected
a family of sheepskins,
thought it would bring happiness,
all it got me were
luxury cars,
tacky designer clothes
and a bigger and bigger house
to store all my vanity in.

It was all a vicious delusion,
society’s definition of success,
a hamster’s spinning wheel.

I was tired of the endless grind,
the need to impress, to sell myself,
so I stopped appeasing it.

I began a journey of humility
and simplified my life.
I re-evaluated adulthood
and where I wanted to go.
I found it without searching,
without the need to acquire more.

©️mft

Crow Tuesday: Therapist Garden

I have a garden

full of baldheaded,

bifocaled therapists

with sofas, chairs

and shelves of esoteric books.

I water them once a day

with my problems and concerns,

fertilize them

with plenty of pain

and angst.

I make sure

they have sufficient sunlight

to jot down notes,

and plenty of space to say:

What would you

like to talk about?

And, that’s all the time

we have today.

I prune the issues

I worked through,

weed the therapists

who lose their

objectivity,

and compost

all my childhood

memories.