I emailed my therapist a big, long word vomit about some kinda traumatic shit that happened in my life

Sing, Muse, of the troubled heart's lament,
A soul in search of solace, message sent.
A tale of woe, in words it poured,
A torrent of pain, its depths explored.

But from the wise one's lips, a terse reply,
"Noted," she said, as tears did dry.
From iPhone's realm, the message flew,
Leaving the seeker in doubt anew.

Was this the counsel sought, so cold and brief?
A balm for wounds, or mere disbelief?
In silent chambers, doubts did grow,
A seed of discontent, beginning to sow.

Yet, in the depths of inner sight,
A truth emerged, a guiding light.
The answers lie not in another's hand,
But within, where the soul does stand.

So, with resolve, the seeker turned away,
From therapist's words, no longer to sway.
For in the crucible of self, they find,
The strength to heal, the peace of mind.