Therapy.

I never could go to therapy,
I remember my first therapist.

Mrs. Doe,
Twenty six years old,
Two dogs,
Patchouli,
Married.

The worst tragedy Doe had experienced was her favorite shot glass breaking,
It was during her last semester of school,
She had attended Boston university.

 See,
That's the great divider.  

Doe's parents had been together 20 years,
They bought her a car,
Paid for her school.

She felt like she was successful,
And as much as she didn't want to admit it,
She felt better than the people she saw.

Society agrees with Mrs. Doe,
So they ask her to council,
They ask her to guide.

Mrs. Doe has no idea,
She never will.

Mrs. Doe will never have to go hungry,
She will never get in a fight,
She will never break the law to get just enough money to survive.

She will tell the lost who find her couch,
"Apply themselves",
"Be the change they seek".

They will look back at her,
Knowing they have worked harder,
Struggled more,
And have learned more than Doe ever will.

And they will leave,
Just as I did,
Maybe write some poetry.