She leans in with her sharp eyes,
mouth a well-oiled machine of truths.
Each word a blade, slicing tender,
but not to wound—no, to air out.
“You’re hiding again,” she says,
voice taut like a pulled string.
I feel it snap in my chest—
a dull ache I’ve been feeding.
Her honesty hangs between us,
heavy as unwashed dishes,
as bare as a rotting orange
left too long on the kitchen counter.
I want to tell her she’s wrong.
But the bones of me groan—
she’s carving around the rot,
scraping at what I buried deep.
“I didn’t come for surgery,” I think,
but hell, maybe I did.
Her words sting like salt poured,
like truth that’s been waiting too long.
She doesn’t blink, doesn’t waver.
I swear she can see my soul sagging,
but somehow still keeps it upright.
We sit in the quiet, raw and alive.
-
Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: April 23rd, 2026 07:12
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
- Users favorite of this poem: Friendship
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Comments2
A powerful poem. Your revolves around the complex dynamics of therapy and self-exploration. It highlights the discomfort of facing painful truths and the struggle of confronting one's inner turmoil. The therapist catalyzes change, pushing the person to confront buried emotions and experiences.
Wow, powerful. The reality of good therapy.
Thank You Katie I always appreciate your feedback
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