I write because sometimes

I truly believe

that I am the only person

who has ever

thought a thought.

So why not put down

these words?

These words

are hardly more

than girl’s aimless rambling,

But still—who knows?

They may outlast me.

They may not.

The beauty is that

whether immortalized or not

they are mine.

They are mine

because each thought

comes from someplace that

usually lies dormant in my head.

But when I set my pen to paper

the vault unlocks,

swings open,

and the words come pouring out.

And the fact of the matter is,

although these words come from my own mind,

they often surprise me.

They often surprise me

because I find that

I don’t really care

whether I make much sense.

I don’t care

if I sound dull, or slow, or stupid.

When I write I become someone

who has broken down walls

and has stepped over boundaries.

I become honest.