“The day my children move out is years I can count on two hands I have them half this time years I count on one.”

You say: you are mourning a man that could not love you. Full stop. Cover the last word. There’s the truth.

I call you to say we have no other choice but to date for a year go our separate ways and cheat on whoever we marry forever.

Ancient shamans asked the sick one question only when did you stop singing?

My brother has not spoken to me in years. Something to do with Donald Trump or Jesus Christ or our horrible stepfather.

I meet you and know suddenly and horribly there is no difference between sex and war that I must die to get that close to touching god.

You loved me gray sweatpants and I loved you drunk on stouts and I am velveeta mac and cheese.

Good morning. The sun is 93 million miles away her light takes 8 minutes to find you each day. You are on purpose.

I want you as a lemon the waiter brings on a tiny white plate. I want him to watch while I squeeze you into my mouth and swallow the rind.

The point is that I loved.

The uncharted territory of the western amazon is called the mother of god.

When I was six I fell on a broken window. Once I realized no one was coming I stopped screaming and pulled the shard from my middle. This is life for some of us. This has been life for me.

The most revolutionary act women can do is take back the life that belongs to you.

My entire life I’ve waited for a man to teach the world how to treat me and if he’d step in and convince them all.

I should now admit I once made a fake account just to talk to you once more.

It finally happened like I thought it might I run into you.

Hour 36 of labor. I pull at god’s necktie dig a hole at the hospital floor.

I was a funky kid.

I grew up all around the Bay, but I spent most of my time in Hayward and I loved it. It was a really big apartment community, there was a whole bunch of kids.

As I have discovered by examining my past, I started out as a child. Coincidentally, so did my brother. My mother did not put all her eggs in one basket, so to speak: she gave me a younger brother named Russell, who taught me what was meant by survival of the fittest.

Now that I’m an adult, I realize that kids know at a very young age when they’re being devalued, when adults aren’t invested enough to help them learn. Their anger over it can manifest itself as unruliness. It’s hardly their fault. They aren’t bad kids. They’re just trying to survive bad circumstances.

No matter how calmly you try to referee, parenting will eventually produce bizarre behavior, and I’m not talking about the kids. Their behavior is always normal.

I guess the real reason that my wife and I had children is the same reason that Napoleon had for invading Russia: it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Why, I just shake the buildings out of my sleeves.

The essence of childhood, of course, is play, which my friends and I did endlessly on streets that we reluctantly shared with traffic.