“I cry because I don’t know how to help you, but I can’t even help myself.”

This longing breaks me. Rips my heart open and kills me. Your loss takes out even the worst of me. Your absence will be the death of me.

Somedays, I’m an overflowing fountain, a chaotic ocean or an untamed river. But even on the hard days, kindness is a possibility I always choose.

I’ve never been much of a dancer. But healing is a song I’ve been learning to dance on.

I stopped complaining about things I didn’t have, and poured gratitude for what I did. Life became lighter and more fulfilling. Desire didn’t hold onto me like it earlier did. Happiness filled in like light, and life started to feel like a blessing.

Everyday is a discovery of the person I am becoming, or I always was, but only now realizing.

You are a miracle. Every essence of you is magic. On days you doubt yourself, I hope you know, the universe resides in you.

I keep you in my heart, like a dream unfulfilled. Like an incomplete wish. Like something I can crave but never have. Ever since the beginning of time, what has love been anyway? if not longing or heartbreak?

Aren’t all poets born from tragedy?

You are a nameless prayer, my heart begs to be brought again to existence.

I have inherited my fathers rage and my mothers silence. Everyday is a survival. I am a fire burning, just invisible.

Brown daughters are just fragile glass houses always on the verge of shattering.

I believe we all deserve good endings. We were kind people before this world turned us cruel.

They said everything I lost will come back to me. I said -everything I’ve lost is too lost to ever come back to Me.

My love isn’t love. It is devotion. I don’t fall in love, I shatter. I don’t love, I worship.

I’ve been so hurt. Just love me enough that my heart heals and all my scars worship your name.

Even when the blood in my veins is the same as them, every cell in my body is against becoming like them. What a curse it is to hate the very thing that birth you.

I was a left-handed dentist who made people cry.

You’ll never have any trouble with Mr. T, I’m just a big, calm teddy bear kind of guy. Mr. T ain’t ashamed to cry.

My mother told me, ‘Son, nobody else but God knows.’ And that’s what I’m about – reaching out to the people, crying with them, giving them hope.

When I go out and I meet people who are suffering and they come and talk to me, Mr. T cries, Mr. T who could break a man’s jaw with his fist.

You’re still crying about him aren’t you? Silly girl. What good will it do you to spill those sky blu tears? You meant either everything to him or absolutely nothing at all.

The body is a house of many windows: there we all sit, showing ourselves and crying on the passers-by to come and love us.

There are voices crying what must be done, a hundred, a thousand voices.

Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear. Let him not love the earth too deeply… For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much.