the vines in my veins

Sometimes I swear I

wrote myself into

oblivion, pen

twisting onto paper and

becoming resounding

screams of

insufficiency.

Sometimes I swear I

wrote myself out

of oblivion, words

becoming threads of

self love and

healing, growing

vines in my veins and

telling me to

climb them.

Perhaps there were

treasures buried in the

dark,

perhaps I wrote myself

there

just to write myself

back.

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some people never grow up

Today I was told,

“You have to be okay

with losing friends”,

and I thought to myself

what pain I’d have been spared

if I had heard that

before