When Home and Therapy No Longer Hold
The walls that once hummed with soft, familiar static—
the hallway’s sigh, the kitchen’s clatter—
now echo with a stranger’s footfall, a silence that presses
like a tide receding from its shore.
The therapist’s couch, that neutral plain of cushions,
was a map of safe coordinates:
“Speak,” she said, “and I will listen.”
But the words have turned to ash,
the listening ears to glass that shatters at the slightest tremor.
So where do you go when the anchors dissolve?
You step into the city’s underbelly, where neon flickers like an old heart.
You walk the cracked pavement that remembers the footsteps of the lost,
each crack a fissure in the world’s skin, a quiet invitation
to sit, to breathe, to rewrite the narrative of safety.
You find refuge in the hush of a forgotten library,
where dust‑laden tomes keep secrets tighter than any therapist’s notebook.
Pages turn, and with each rustle you hear a soft promise:
“Here you may be unmade, and remade, without judgment.”
You follow the river that runs past the industrial district,
its water a mirror that refuses to show the sky but reflects your own face.
In its current you learn that safety is not a place but a pulse—
the steady thrum of blood beneath bruised ribs, the rhythm that persists
even when the world’s walls crumble.
You sit beneath a lone oak in a park that no one tends,
its bark scarred by seasons, its roots tangled in the earth’s old stories.
There, the wind whispers: “You are a traveler, not a prisoner;
The ground beneath you is ever‑changing, but the sky remains.”
And in each of these wandering sanctuaries—streetlight, book, river, tree—
You discover that safety is a compass, not a destination.
It is the willingness to step into the unknown, to map the gaps
with your own steady hand, to carry the lantern of self‑compassion
until the world, however fractured, begins to feel a little less hostile,
and you, at last, can answer that quiet question:
Where can I feel safe again?
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Author:
Friendship (
Offline) - Published: February 10th, 2026 00:08
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: Friendship, sorenbarrett, RSM0812, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments4
A truly great write that is so raw and identifiable. It calls out from the inside to the outside an existential voice. It is a search a journey for safety that mythical land we once believed in but found does not exist but in our dreams. This poem taps into those feelings that so many feel from time to time looking for a world long gone. A fave my friend
Thank you, Soren. I appreciate you stopping by to read my poem, but most of all, I appreciate your feedback, my friend.
You are most welcome Friendship
Unfortunaltkey feeling safe is a prime concern of all human beings. If a person does not feel safe, they subconciously fall into a defensive or offensive emotional existance. Its like being in a predicament you have no control of. Or being literaly in the control of other people you barley know. The world can be a scary place but there is still faith in people as there is always good somewhere within. U just have to bring out the good and bury the bad.
Thank you, RSM0812. I appreciate you stopping by to read my poem, but most of all, I appreciate your feedback, my friend.
You walk the cracks and bruised streets with courage,
finding refuge in whispers the world forgot.
Thank you, Thomas. I appreciate you stopping by to read my poem, but most of all, I appreciate your feedback, my friend.
My friend, this hit me hard…there’s a quiet hurt here that feels lived-in, not imagined. The loss of safety isn’t dramatic, it’s tender and disorienting, and that makes it land even deeper. Powerful, my friend. Powerful. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Thank you, Tristan. I appreciate you stopping by to read my poem, but most of all, I appreciate your feedback, my friend.
Most welcome, Friendship!
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