The therapist asks it
So gently
I almost miss
How sharp it is
A simple sentence
Softly placed
Between us
Yet it lands
Like a blade
Laid on the table
For me to name
My breath stutters
The room
The chair beneath me
Feels suddenly
Too small
For the truth
I’ve been carrying
I look at the floor
As if the answer
Might be hiding
In the grain of the wood
As if the question
Hasn’t been echoing
Inside my ribs
For years
How did it feel
Standing in the corner?
The words crack open
Something old
Something cold
Something I’ve kept
Pressed flat
Between the pages
Of my life
I don’t answer
Not yet
But the silence shifts
A tremor
A thaw
The first sign
That the truth
Is waking up
And the therapist waits
Steady
Unflinching
As if they know
The hardest questions
Aren’t meant
To be answered quickly
Only honestly
Then you'll be ready for
Part 3
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Author:
Anthony Hanible (
Offline) - Published: April 13th, 2026 03:23
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
- Users favorite of this poem: Anthony Hanible, ms.divine
Offline)
Comments2
So true it is it is not the speed but the thought and honesty that count. Well said
Truth always prevails it self
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