Lovely Is

I look around, from my seat in the middle,
At the faces all turned towards the front of the room
Wondering what they may be thinking:
About how this is all bullshit?
Maybe about how they can't wait for the meeting to be over?
Sometimes I think like that, too.

They fascinate me
The dirty ones, the smelly ones, the beat-up ones
The lovely ones.

No one gets here because life is going smoothly
In fact quite the opposite
Suicide is always on our minds when we get to that first meeting.
Always.

Yet there is beauty in the struggle
If they only knew
What I know sometimes.
It can be done. One day at a time.
Maybe one hour at a time.

And the lovely ones make me wonder
Why they are so self destructive.
I could hold them and show them how special they are
If they'd let me.
Yeah, I could tenderly show them what is what
And how a man should act towards them.
But they never let me in. Not yet at least
Sometimes because of time constraints
(We have our rules)
But mostly because they're scared
Not of me but of the world in general.

I'm not scary, they might see
If they give me a chance.
Yes, they all mean so much to me
Especially the lovely ones.