“You are whole and complete all on your own everything you need is within you peel away the layers come home.”

The shelter is where I am when I am with myself.

I have emptied myself of a heavy burden today lifted it out of my body and placed it down its not the end but it’s a beginning.

My heart is my muse my blood is my ink my pain is my pen my words are my healing.

Why do I push up against the ones who will not have me like a wave pushing its way on the sand when my people are in the ocean and we naturally flow to protect each other.

Authenticity feels like the glue that has put me back together I feel whole and aligned in every word.

Release the person’s place thought-feeling.

I will always meet you with kindness.

I still have hope that one day someone will love all of me – from the hallelujahs right down to the hallows.

You took my heart, hope, love, and trust when you left but you gave me good poetry.

My eyes, finally conscious of the truth that is, now see unclouded.

Why do I paint a happy face every single holiday when they are a stinging reminder of what and who is absent.

Listen to the heart to its beat in time words are no match for what is spoken in the heart’s rhyme.

Friendships exist in the fluctuations between acceptance and rejection.

I want to be loved so I try to be you then I realize what I see in you is in the mirror looking back at me.

All this time I knew I needed some really good therapy and I found it —in poetry.

I remind myself what I desire in another is myself undiscovered.

Your body is meant to be the safest place for you to live.

I am always going to have problems with the paparazzi. I have had two men outside my house for the last two years, which is frightening at times, but that is my life unfortunately.

Social and digital media is a bullet train, and that bullet train is not coming home.

I work out with my trainer or do an hour of pilates at 6 or 7AM. I’m done by the time my household is awake.

He has created the poor savage with no guide but natural law, and it is to their hearts that He deigns to stoop. They are His wild flowers whose homeliness delights Him.

Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.

Every heart needs a home that isn’t made of flesh and bone. – another place called home.

The road to the inn is much better than the stay.