Therapy Bits

I sat where silence softly grew,
A single chair, a tender view,
The walls wore calm in gentle hues,
And waited for my truth to choose.

My hands were tight with years unspoken,
My voice a gate, long rusted, broken.
She asked no more than just to stay,
While I found words to lose the weight.

First came sorrow, slow and shy,
A fragile, aching lullaby.
Then anger sparked, a buried flame—
Ashes rising, naming blame.

Tears traced paths I hadn’t known,
Like rivers claiming roots long grown.
Each sob a stitch undone with care,
Each breath a kind of answered prayer.

She did not fix, or mend, or steer—
She held the room, and let me hear
Myself, for once, without disguise,
The storm behind my steady eyes.

And in that space, I set them down—
The grief, the shame, the tattered crown.
Not gone, but gentler, less alone—
A weight once mine, now partly flown.

I left with less than what I brought,
But more of me than I had thought.
Not healed, not whole—but on my way,
Lighter by what I gave away.

Monday Poetry Prompt: Relinquish | Living Poetry