“Let go of the honey-sweet lies for the bittersweet truths.”

Imagine the unknown of what the beings around you cover up and struggle with everyday.

If I could reverse time, I would spend more time looking into what ailed my loved ones – would have learned more about medical gaslighting.

Here you are, another heartache to guard under my wings as I wait wondering when it’ll be time for me to fly.

To be understood is to be on part of the path to inclusivity.

To be understood and accepted could change so many lives.

People struggle with words that spill and overwhelm you because they themselves are sinking.

I still have a scar from the time someone said, ‘Sometimes love isn’t enough.’

I don’t think anyone really gets my attachment to the little things. They call it insignificant and say that it is what it is. I think it all adds up to what we stand for. The little things add up to something meaningful and so does the complacency.

I bear the fruits of your memory in the expression of my art for that is what you gave to the world.

Body and mind aren’t separated. And so all these things I write, they are felt in the aches of my heart.

I grew up learning history about communities that would support their people (the idea that it takes a village), but all I see are so many people left on their own.

When the silence fades and now sounds begin to bloom, I will grow to feel calm again. Healthily this time.

My words decay. I grow as they fray, unbecoming in the passage of time.

I overwhelmingly write from sadness – in songs, in prose, in verse.

I search for comedy scripts / I watch happy shows / In hopes that laughter will be the remedy I end my day with.

I hide myself in the galaxies of my creations – unsure of who I am beyond that.

He entered the territory of lies without a passport for return.

A statesman is an easy man, he tells his lies by rote. A journalist invents his lies, and rams them down your throat. So stay at home and drink your beer and let the neighbors vote.

There are a thousand thoughts lying within a man that he does not know till he takes up a pen to write.

Though leaves are many, the root is one; Through all the lying days of my youth I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun Now I may wither into the truth.

The life of a coquette is one constant lie; and the only rule by which you can form any correct judgment of them is that they are never what they seem.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like the money, but that’s not what motivates me.

We’re all islands shouting lies to each other across seas of misunderstanding.

Self-censorship is a lie to yourself; if you are going to be trying to seriously create art, to create literary art, and you decide to hold back, to censor yourself, then you are a fool to yourself and it would be better that you kept your mouth shut and did not speak.