A Client Perspective.

Roots do not trust the rain immediately. They remember drought. Long stretches between plentiful showers that seemed to last longer than the leaves could bear. The tree remembers watching its leaves fall, unable to gather them back. Brittle. Still. Alone. Then one day, a woman arrived with a small watering can. The tree did not drink. Yet every week she returned. Watering the same patch of earth. And slowly, the roots reached. I think I see a new leaf springing from a branch.

Content Note: This poem speaks openly about suicidal thoughts and the weight of living with them. I have studied attempted suicides the way historians study history. When your mind circles something long enough, you start looking for patterns. You learn the mistakes people made so you can avoid them. None of the bridges in my state are tall enough to guarantee breath stops when the falling does. I was young the first time I started researching this. Before national hotlines w

3,000 seconds Poured into my soul The ticking of time Softening The intensity of humanness Expanding Wrapped in past, present, and future Simultaneously Mind and body separated, Yet clashing together The way waves meet the shoreline. And for 3,000 seconds My soul is bare, Held, Witnessed, And released again.