Inside me, a house of many rooms,
doors creak open, voices bloom.
Some are whispers, soft and kind,
others storm across my mind.
Each carries a story, a piece of me,
a hidden truth, a memory.
We share one body, but not one face,
shifting shadows, shifting place.
The world asks me to be just one,
a single thread, neatly spun.
But I am a tapestry, complex, grand,
woven from strands few understand.
Don’t call me broken, don’t call me less,
I’m a chorus of strength in a single chest.
To live as many within the same skin
is not the end—it’s where I begin.
Therapy Bits 
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