Therapy Bits

The air quivers with colors unnamed,
as if my chest were breaking open
and the storm inside refused to soften.

Every thought burns electric—
a pulse of heat,
a shard of ice,
a sudden flood that leaves no ground to stand.

I am not a single note.
I am the whole chord struck at once,
resonating against bone and memory.

In my ribcage,
a prism waits—
splitting feeling into blinding strands:
rage, joy, grief, awe,
all rushing in one breath,
all impossible to hold,
all radiant, all heavy.

And though I stagger beneath their weight,
I will not dim them.
Better to blaze,
fractured and luminous,
than to walk in silence without light.

RDP SATURDAY: PRISM