the Door Proves my apartment has a separate room for sleeping, for dressing, for fucking or falling in love

the door proves i don’t need anything i don’t need (anything)

the door does not latch properly; from the outside pressing against it my toes will edge it open, the sound piercing the silence like it were a break-in in the dead middle of the night

the door shows me, with its hard exterior, its closed-ness, its inability to not make a sound, what i want, and what i want to fight for

but with its blankness, its cleanliness, its simplicity, it reminds me that it is just a door, and i am simply on the outside of it, nudging, maybe scraping, but barely, with my toes

Filed under: monologue Tagged: doors, growth, healing, home, love, loyalty, self, self-care, self-love, strength