Therapeutic Poems
We practice the craft of therapeutic document writing for all our clients at the CNC. In our sessions, we turn our concentrated focus of attention on client’s stories in their own vernacular and vibe. We turn our session notes into therapeutic poems and letters after each session as a way to honor and witness your unique life experiences.
The following poem was written from the words of a woman who decided to get a divorce and leave a relationship fraught with control and dominance:
You Think You Know Anything
About Doormats?
This doormat just got legs and it's standing up
It took its time
Waited it out
Hoped for a peaceful transition
The in-and-out traffic of the door
Provided a soft place to wipe your feet
Or remove your shoes
It was welcoming - it was giving of itself
Over time with constant use
The doormat was drowning in melting snow
Eating shit
And playing dumb
It was drugged and drug
Just to show up
With its tidy fringe
A betrayal pierced a hole in the weave
And the mat felt under attack
Uncertain if it could continue playing the game
It had been witness to so many attempted escapes
But it kep getting the dust beaten out of it
Laid back on the floor
For fear of punishment
Until this doormat got legs and stood up
Pulled back its truth
It cancelled the steam clean
Refused a particular pair of shoes
The doormat knows fear is a prison
Strategy is escape
Courageous and planful in its care
To rebuild a foundation
This doormat just got legs and it is standing up
On sturdy beautiful floors
That are grounded in intention
It is a home and a place of belonging
Just beyond fear
The doormat has been woven with golden threads of beauty
Fine chains of a compass lace the edges
Flower petals have dyed the fibres
And this doormat just got legs and it is standing up
For a life of freedom
The following poem was written from the words of a young indigenous woman and mother:
The Hunter and the Bear
Sometimes I am the hunter
Smelling that smell
Of earth, dirt, and water, and air
Hunting the city limits
For pockets of nature,
Of beauty
Of leaves my daughter can crunch
Beneath her feet
Hunting for connection in dreams
And meaning in challenges
And truth in everything
Sometimes I am the Bear
The fierce Mama Bear
Who protects and fights and never loses sight of her young
Even the ones she only sees in her dreams
The Wise Bear with instincts that knew even as a child
That a person is more important
Than a can of beer
The Brave Bear who risked it all
To protect the young
And still keeps watch in the "no go zone."
I am connected to my culture
My spirit
My family
Sometimes, I am the Hunter
Sometimes, I am the Bear.
This poem is from a conversation with an Indigenous man:
Homecoming
Surely
With the 215
You cannot turn away from the Truth
We always told:
For five springs I went to him
Begging for a job, an escape
From the beatings
From the loneliness
From the shame
From the train tracks.
There were 6 of us in my family:
I am the only one left of our generation,
Stolen to unlearn the Truth
Of who we were
To have the Indian slaughtered
Out of our bones and souls.
When I was 13
He said "yes"
and saved
my
life.
I worked hard for decades:
He is still my mentor
And I have become a knowledge keeper
Of both his craft and my legacy.
Knowing that you will walk with us
Allows my journey home
To stand tall once more,
To finally know
How to live again
In these bones,
With this soul.
The following poem was written for a young queer woman who is struggling with the physical symptoms of anxiety as a result of disregard and queer-phobic questioning of her experiences:
Wonder
How do you build a life
Within your own skin
In a world that is scary as hell?
I'll tell you:
If you decide to take a measured look at "scary"
And aim the steering wheel right into it
Even if your hands shake
The comfort in your skin will grow
-It's a wonder.
And after you decide that foursomes aren't for you
And your ride picks you up
And you drive into the night as your hands shake
The knowing in your skin will grow
In the presence of a friend:
-It's a wonder.
And after you risk
And lean over to kiss the man
With the beard for the first time in your life
And he turns out too shy
Or after you risk
And smile at the woman who has a belly just like you
And she turns out too straight
The hope in your skin will grow
-It's a wonder.
If you look at skin and blood and bones
And ask them what they long for
They might tell you:
I want to build a family
A chosen family
The one I painted when I was six
The one to jump into cold water with
The one to go to Xmas parties with
The one to care for a kitten with
The one to drive long into the night with
The one to trace our ways into our skins with
-Like wonder.
My hands tell me
My longing
Is for "family-esque"
And so
With shaky, tender hands
I brought home a kitten today:
We're ready.