“With all your words of glass, I felt the wedding dress rip If I don’t want to give you the satisfaction of seeing me cry why should I want to give you the rest of my life?”

Talking to you wrecks me because it is a glimpse into what I could have had if only.

Dry throat on the days I’d rather just watch the candle burn.

I want my cake and to eat it too but bulimia runs rampant and she is a fucking bitch.

If nothing else you have inspired me to write beautiful poetry if nothing else I bring words to the table with me.

Loneliness has taught me more things about myself than love ever has.

I love you I’m just trying not to wear my heart on my text messages.

We are survivors we glisten in the sun for all the nights I died alone I did not know another woman carried my song and it is beautiful now look what we have become.

We live in a society where I am a crazy bitch for going to any lengths to keep you away from me.

Writing spiteful poetry in a chapel I realized I have to love you no matter what you do.

I do not want my worth to be centered in men with fangs for teeth I do not deserve to be degraded in a leather seat my worth is powerful you will never take that away from me.

Can anybody hear me? Are my words going to waste I need to believe there was a purpose to all the pain?

Sex is not a map to me anymore I am more than my physical body.

I fought my way through plastic men the woman in me learned how to show her teeth no matter how fucking unladylike they say it makes me.

I imagine poetry to be a living entity in me.

It may have been mad love but at least it made me taste something even if it was blood.

I believe the ashes of my past life were stepping stones to becoming free.

He was attached by ties stronger than reason could break — chains, forged by habit, which it would be cruel to attempt to loosen.

What white man has ever seen me drunk? Who has ever come to me hungry and left me unfed? Who has seen me beat my wives or abuse my children? What law have I broken?

A theory deeply etched in our law is that a free society prefers to punish the few who abuse the rights of free speech after they break the law rather than to throttle them and all others beforehand.

Terror made me cruel; and finding it useless to attempt shaking the creature off, I pulled its wrist on to the broken pane, and rubbed it to and fro till the blood ran down and soaked the bedclothes.

Took me a while to realize that it’s only after breaking completely some parts of us completely fixes.

If the system is broken, my inclination is to fix it rather than to fight it. I have faith in the process of the law, and if it is carried out fairly, I can live with the results, whatever they may be.

When you need to wonder, they’ve already wandered.

Love is knowing that she is delicate and not breaking her still.