Therapy Bits

Some days I wake and wear a smile,
stitched carefully, thread by thread —
a quiet costume for the world,
to hide the war inside my head.

I speak in practiced, brighter tones,
so no one hears the tremble there;
my laughter rings through hollow halls,
a fragile echo in the air.

They see me standing, breathing, whole,
but they don’t see the storm beneath —
the anxious tide that pulls me down,
the weight that steals the air I breathe.

I move through days in borrowed light,
pretending peace I can’t believe in —
because I’ve learned too well the truth:
appearances may be deceiving.

Still, somewhere deep, a spark remains,
a stubborn hope that softly pleads —
that one day I’ll wake and find myself
no longer drowning — just at ease.

appearance – The Daily Spur