Pictures of me hang on the wall,
but who is this stranger
staring back at me?
The ink of my pen
still flows warm,
but now my fingers type
all kept within me.
The hunger to be known
is a lit candle
burning deep into the night,
and still I feel invisible.
My dreams whisper in my ear,
stories and poems to be written,
but will they become homeless?
Many doors seem locked,
but here in this place,
they fly wide open.
And everything kept inside
becomes vivid across the page,
displayed for all,
and settled into their home,
and as I walk past
these pictures of me,
I do not regret the past anymore.
My future awaits somewhere
beyond one of these doors.
Approach (For novel-storm)
By, Melissa R. Mendelson
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