Therapy Bits

There’s a bucket in the corner of my mind,
rusted, dented, still somehow kind.
It hums with all the things I couldn’t say,
and swallows every yesterday.

I toss in old heartbreaks like spare change,
flick in guilt that still feels strange,
crumpled hopes, like burned receipts—
proof of all my half-done feats.

Every “should’ve,” every “why,”
the nights I swore I’d never cry,
the echoes of what might’ve been—
they clatter softly deep within.

Sometimes it overflows a bit,
and I just sigh, and say, “Well, shit.”
Because what else can a body do,
but laugh when pain feels overdue?

Still, there’s grace in that old pail—
in knowing not all strength must prevail.
I let it hold what I can’t yet mend,
my silent, swearing, steadfast friend.

And maybe one day, when I’m free,
I’ll tip it out beneath a tree—
watch sorrow spill into the loam,
and let that dirt become my home.

Weekly Prompts Weekend Challenge – Bucket – Weekly Prompts