My old friend, Ive missed you.
You always provide such a release,
Somehow when I write,
I provide exactly
What I need.

Underneath,
My teeth.
Underneath all these layers
Of clothes,
Fake smiles,
Make up,
And tiny voices.

There’s a hand,
That says; it’s okay
To start again.

I am your friend.
No one can take writing from you.
Write from your heart,
And let it flow down the river
Let it pour out of your fragile hands
Onto the blank paper.

It’s your truth,
And it’s all beautiful.

You can always pick up a pen
And start where you left off.

You know you're a writer.
You will always come back.