Therapy Bits

In the hush between heartbeat and breath,
A whisper stirs, a shadowed guest—
It knows your name, it knows the door,
It’s been here countless times before.

It wears no face, but bears a weight,
A silent hunger, cold and great.
It calls with promises, sharp and thin,
To carve the ache, let darkness in.

But you are not the blade, the break,
Not every tremble, every ache.
You are the sky before the rain—
Wide, bruised, but holding back the pain.

You are the fist that won’t unclench,
The shaking voice that won’t relent.
You are the pulse, the fight, the flame—
Still breathing through the grief and shame.

And when the tide is rising fast,
When memories echo from the past,
Stand still. Feel each second pass—
This storm is strong, but it won’t last.

So take the pen instead of steel,
Write what you cannot dare to feel.
Or scream into the empty night,
But do not give up on the light.

There’s blood that builds, not breaks apart,
There’s strength in every fragile start.
You are not alone, not wrong, not weak—
You’re more than pain your skin may speak.

So hold on—though your hands are sore—
You’ve weathered this, and you’ll do more.
The urge is fierce, but so are you—
Still standing. Still trying. Still true.