Therapy Bits

I carry the weight of silence
like stones tucked in my pockets—
heavy, familiar,
a gravity I did not choose.

The body remembers
every shadow,
every echo of breaking,
and sometimes I mistake the present
for a place that has already ended.

But healing does not arrive as thunder.
It comes as breath—
small, uneven,
a rhythm that slowly teaches the heart
to listen again.

I oppose the old script
that says survival is the same as living.
I write new margins,
let green things root in the cracks,
let light fall without apology.

Even the scar,
raised and unyielding,
becomes a compass—
not a wound to hide,
but a landmark
for where I began again.

FOWC With Fandango — Oppose – Facts, Fictions & Fantasies