A theory: the couch is the real healer
The therapist merely a conduit
You can put down all you carry on your shoulders
And stuff troubles between the cushions
Like gum wrappers and spare change.
Over the years
I have seen many a faded floral couch
And many a couch have worn my tears.
They all offer solace,
And so the stories of those who
Curl into their arms week after week
Become woven into their threads
The old couch listens and holds
And never interrupts
It knows it cannot fix, but
It can comfort better than most people can
YOU ARE READING
We Write for Fear of Silence
Poetry{My soul put into words. Writing is how I put myself back together again. Writing is how I love.} **all poems are mine** HIGHEST RANKING: #30 IN POETRY & #1 IN TEEN POETRY
