Wrong Words

In the therapy room, lavender fills the air,

a moment of silence—then words that don’t care.

“You just need to try,” she said, with a nod,

yet something inside me felt painfully flawed.

Her words cut like shards through a glimmering haze,

a misunderstanding that left me ablaze.

Like an empty chair, her judgment hangs thick,

what’s said can’t be taken back, the impact is quick.

I search for the lesson in what’s hard to accept,

but her words linger still, I wish they had kept.

To unpack all the layers, both tender and wrong,

and find my own voice in this awkward song.