Therapy Bits

Some days I wake
and the mirror is a hallway—
echoes wearing my face,
names I half-remember
like dreams that never fully sleep.

I am broke and unbroken,
a mosaic of breath and borrowed mornings,
edges shifting
as if someone rearranged the night
while I wasn’t looking.

Inside, we pass the world
hand to hand,
a puzzle whose pieces
disagree on where the corners go—
yet still
we hold together.

Hope is not a single flame here;
it is a constellation,
voices learning
to warm one another,
to coexist without apology.

Healing is slow,
a soft negotiation,
a choosing—again and again—
to stay,
to listen,
to build a life roomy enough
for everyone who needs it.

And on the gentler mornings
I feel the chorus settle,
not silent,
but steady—
a harmony stitched from many lives,
finally allowed
to breathe.

RDP Thursday : Broke