Therapy Bits

Shadows on the wall,
stretch long and thin in the lamplight’s fall—
monsters made of memory,
of whispers I was told to keep.

Hands that once grabbed—
cold, sudden, cruel—
taught me to flinch
at kindness, too.

The floorboards knew my trembling knees,
the air held cries I tried to freeze.
Tears like glass,
each one a shard
of a child’s heart
broken, hard.

But years passed quietly—
roots grew from the cracks,
I learned to speak
the words I’d lacked.

Now the shadows still appear,
but I face them—
unafraid,
clear.

They do not own me,
not anymore.
My tears have turned to rain—
and rain helps flowers grow once more.

What do you see # 309- October 6, 2025 – Keep it alive