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Sonnet to my Therapist

Today a sonnet I set out to write;
My goal? Perhaps to exercise my mind,
And therefore, nothing clever, something light;
So, don’t expect to read the serious kind.
Let’s talk about my home massage a bit;
The therapist showed up at 9 o’clock;
How I now wish that she had quit and split
Before she put me in a hammerlock,
Then twisted, jarred those tender vertebrae
And turned me into one odd pretzel form
Until I hollered “That’s enough today!”
But one more thing she needed to perform:
***** She pounded on my back with mighty fists—
***** And gave my tortured spine THAT fatal twist.

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I appreciate moderate constructive criticism
Review Request (Direction): 
How was my language use?
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content


Oh my, a funny sonnet, sounds like I could please you with a massage using wooden spoons sir? Maybe even dried pasta? Oh the imagery your therapist is mean! lol you have once again sonnetized my mind. (Grin)

Thank you...Teddy

yeah, she lives up to her name: Faust (Fist) when she pummels me,lol. And yet, she is a fairly petite woman who approved of my sonnet. Wooden spoons? That would be okay . . . but please--not the dried up pasta; that would surely crack my butt. Thank you Signora. Yours, Jerry

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