Therapy Bits

In the mirror, a hundred eyes stare back—
each one a whisper, a different track.
I lace my thoughts like fraying thread,
some I remember, most go unsaid.

Names like echoes behind closed doors,
flickering lights on shifting floors.
A hand I don’t know lifts a pen,
and I’m rewritten once again.

Mornings are puzzles, scattered and gray,
I gather the edges, night steals them away.
Smiles feel borrowed, tears arrive late—
my own reflection hesitates.

They say I’m split like broken glass,
shards of a self from a shadowed past.
But each sharp piece holds a light, a truth—
not fragments lost, but fragments of youth.

We are not one, yet not undone,
a chorus shaped beneath one sun.
And though the world may never see
the whole behind our memory—

we live, we breathe, we stitch, we bind,
a quilt of selves, uniquely kind.
In the quiet, we make a place to sit—
not just to survive, but to grow in the split.

RDP SATURDAY: SPLIT