“Your name still tastes like poison in my mouth.”

Leave me like you mean it. My heart can’t keep waiting for you.

The future belongs to those who are brave enough to speak up about things that matter.

I think I’ll always remember your birthday and the way you took your coffee because they’ll forever be pieces of you I cannot burn.

We all show our true colors eventually – mine is dark and firesome red. I bet I burned you. I don’t expect to see you soon.

Faded secrets and old voices have built towns inside my heart. Thats were we still meet.

The sun touched your skin with innocent delicacy as if you were a work of out that was made to be admired deeply.

The sky was crying so I wiped away her tears, just like all the times she did the same me.

Each time I fall back in love with myself, I leave my pen and paper behind. It isn’t personal, or maybe it is. I just a always thought that poetry was for the hurting.

I woke up this morning and for once, I had no desire to drink my morning coffee. Is that how it felt for you to wake up and never return?

In a dream like haze, the moment you left still spins on repeat like a broken record.

I hope you think of me during every thunderstorm.

You don’t deserve my poetry. I hate that I give you that satisfaction still.

Soft and sweet and wrapped around your fingertips.

I have so much love to give even with these daggers still stuck in my heart.

I am still weighed down by unspeakable heaviness- It follows like shadow currents.

I thought time would heal my broken heart, but its been forever since I fell in love and I’m scared that you took pieces of me that can’t be replaced.

Name a sexual disease, she got it like Sam Goody.

Emptiness is only a disguise for an intimacy of God’s, that God’s silence, the eerie stillness, is filled by the Word without words, by Him who is above all names, by Him who is all in all. And his silence is telling us that He is here.

I want to put my name in history. I love history.

The worst thing to call somebody is crazy. It’s dismissive.

Fury made a name for himself in America, and as a fighter, you have to establish yourself there, first and foremost, to be known worldwide.

I’ve painted stars around tears that I’ve cried. And now my pain is a galaxy and every star has a name and every name feels like pain and you’re every star.

I want to do films and have my name mentioned next to Wes Anderson and Quentin Tarantino. I don’t want my name mentioned next to other rappers at all.

I have a dog. It’s an English mastiff called Dolly. Her middle name is Poppy.