“Why be a half-finished poem in some forgotten poet’s story, when one can be an odyssey in and of herself, part magic, part villain, part Goddess, part lover.”

If we had no fears to master, how else would we grow?

Forgiveness is easier to give to others than to yourself. But I am slowly learning.

I don’t know how to love people well yet. But I know I can love you the way you deserve, if you let me.

Even with the antidepressants, the grief seeped through the dangerous cracks in the scaffolding holding me up.

Without heartache there are no lessons to gain.

And power, power was so much more important than beauty ever could be.

Remind ourselves that grief may feel longer and more poignant than happiness but it still has an ending.

Perhaps he should have paid attention to the snakes coiled inside me waiting to strike.

It’s how I learn there are a multitude of ways to say I love you. For so many you don’t have to use words at all.

Learn it well. Wear your hair wild, embrace your anger and learn to wield it without fear as a sword against those who hurt you.

It makes them feel a little free, to kiss something dangerous on the mouth.

You are not an open wound, they just want you to think you are.

You have turned your heart into a museum of people you’ve loved to keep them alive inside you.

You smell of death. Everything about is an endless goodbye.

We have calcium in our bones, iron in our veins, carbon in our souls and nitrogen in our brains. 93 percent stardust, with souls made of flames, we are all just stars that have people names.

To heal you must forgive your heart, your skin, your body, all of their mistakes.