“Aren’t all poets born from tragedy?”

I believe, women are miraculous creatures. so compassionate yet carry the potential to bring you hell.

I hope you find someone, who pours love like rain during monsoon, onto all broken parts of you.

The world kept breaking you and here you are- still soft, still loving, how strong of you to maintain your magic in a world where everyone loses their essence.

I’m sorry love scares me, I’ve only seen it end in pain.

The pain keeps dripping down my eyes, but it never really stops hurting.

Even the stars cried when they wrote our fate, a love so deep yet we had to separate.

I stay kind, for the hurt in me knows, pain needs love to heal.

I am fire on the verge of ignition, don’t mistake me for a flame and then blame me for your destruction.

Self love is breaking your own heart to save your soul from shattering.

I know you are afraid to love again, but let the thrill of love be bigger than your fear of hurt.

Loves a drug, the one who overdoses bears the consequences.

My heart is aching and my eyes tearing, will i ever get the love i always keep trying to give others?

We talk too much about heartbreak and broken tales, where are the happy endings and magical fairy tales?

With a heart like yours, you could keep pouring love for an eternity, why not give some to yourself?

If you were ever to cut my flesh open, i would bleed in broken dreams & love i failed to give. for all that i have not done consume me more than all of the things I’ve done.

Things have changed, pain doesn’t scare me anymore love does.

I was born in 1962, and the room next to me was 1963.

The future is born, put the past in a casket.

I never waited 27 years, because 27 years ago I was just born. My parents never told me, ‘If you don’t win Roland Garros we take you to the orphanage.

I gotta die with money cuz i wasn’t born with it.

The man who asks of freedom anything other than itself is born to be a slave.

This world was not created piecemeal. Africa was born no later and no earlier than any other geographical area on this globe. Africans, no more and no less than other men, possess all human attributes, talents and deficiencies, virtues and faults.

The ‘control of nature’ is a phrase conceived in arrogance, born of the Neanderthal age of biology and philosophy, when it was supposed that nature exists for the convenience of man.

Love dies because its birth was an error.