Therapy Poems - Poems about Therapy

There’s something good about having this brain. I like having a stain. Sunday closes a lot of things. As if businesses have wings. There’s no such thing as a twenty dollar bill. There’s no chatter on that window sill. Laughing is all I wish to do. You can’t shatter all my glue. They gave me...

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better ways to heal therapeutic poetry~ a dance of feelings spoken verse trending curbs obsessive impulses~ when we meditate breathe in and speak out demolish your obsessions~ share and overcome ...

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Art & music therapy provides a creative outlet for expressing feelings of anxiety, helping us visualize process our worries I also find poetry therapy as well I write and then recite it back to myself…. shall there be fingers snapping at the end of this recital? I just must wait and see There is this, ...

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Pull the shades Dim the lights Hear the snores No response Just the crickets My art dulls you? It's my therapy ...

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Returned to the wooded place I shed tears where speaking out loud without any fears had no shame or guilt attached to the spew birds deer fairies fae gathered by the few looking on from afar allowing my release so I can continue my self-healing in peace it was therapy for my soul without any pay evaluating how far I have come...

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At a certain point You just learn Not to take The cheese....

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His hands are trembling, his gait a shuffle, sometimes his voice is no more than a muffle. His balance is off, he’s had many falls, sometimes to begin walking, there’s several stalls. Some days are good, others are fair; some days it seems like his mind is hardly there. He’s so optimistic, despite his condition; to help him...

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though many men, (especially former Norwegian bachelor farmers from Lake Woebegone, - but one presently wedded to another female for not quite thirty orbitz around Mister sun) seek a booty call compliments of Facebook (Meta) Messenger yours truly (me - a married Neanderthal - who just learned how to walk erect this morning) does fumfer and forestall profusely groveling and figuratively backpedaling when upbraided, interrogated, and accused of spouting...

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In the quiet of my mind, a river flows, Not from here, nor there, just where creation knows. With every stroke, I find my way, A voice emerging in the light of day. This is who I am, a writer’s soul lay bare upon pages to be, Ink of truth and dreams that make me. Just be yourself, it whispers in...

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Therapy again. Every week. All over. Like pollen. Falls onto my shirt. Brushing my sleeve. Empty brushing. Then burning up, toxic burning. My therapist asks about next week. Shaking a bit. Next week, I have a different appointment on Tuesday. Wednesday is all the same. I’m doing as horrible as ever. Has anyone ever wondered...

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I leave the sun-dappled autumn sidewalk, entering the office The empty chair there lingers. dark tendrils coiling in my mind— my blind rage pleading for quiet healing. flashbacks clash like striking thunder opening buried treasures of truth. and in that final brand searing cry My heart reborn, mindlessly adrift in spectral mist. I gladly depart as sleet glazes, streets so slick….. ...

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Therapist releases patient...

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Chiropractor not the only one who yanks and pulls...

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Miami International Airport has something most airports do not they have trained therapy dogs ready for hugs and cuddles I am unsure how I can find one but if I get to Miami, I will be looking for one....

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Four minutes before therapy. The waiting room. A painting of flowers. I check the time. Three minutes before therapy. My therapist is getting a drink and she’s tired today. Flipping through a magazine. Before therapy. There is one minute. I’ve already thought of everything. We could try, we could try… The painting that watches me every week. It doesn’t have eyes, just flowers that look like...

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