Yes, I did poetry therapy with one therapist and continued to write poetry (much better by then, 25 or so years later :-) for and about another as well as stories, etc.

Four books just now added to ten.
Two weeks stall the growth spurt.
Books grow faster than plants.
Dooryard mud lies unbroken.

Mulch the books or read about
How plants grow well in paper gardens?
Mine is a dooryard small and perfect;
Yet potbound pansies cry for earth.

Split am I between two worlds:
Paper and earth compost my soul.
A mind is a terrible thing to waste
But sometimes too,
A wasteful thing to mind.