all rooms have doors

you must remember

never to rush the

closing of one door for

fear of the closing of

another –

for with patience, every

door that is meant for

you will remain open,

or will open for you


the vines in my veins

Sometimes I swear I

wrote myself into

oblivion, pen

twisting onto paper and

becoming resounding

screams of


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


perhaps I wrote myself


just to write myself