“I am only beautiful when my legs are open and I have forgotten my mother tongue to make room for yours.”

I want to be something to pray for but I don’t know how to be.

And what am I but the smallest of footnotes in the universe’s everlasting memoir?

This country collects too many tongues, until our only language is silence.

I don’t know how to let you out without destroying us both.

Seek refuge in the space between my bones.

Somewhere inside my throat lives your ache.

I like to trace the ghosts of your fingers on the back of my hand. They read- I don’t know how to hold without you.

I pocket grief and it beckons me like a lover.

My silhouette is an ocean, your lips a sailor.

There is a calmness in not knowing.

Every beauty mark, a country to roam. Every stretch mark, a river to cross.

I loved you in quiet because to hide is to pretend that it is okay.

Allow me to introduce myself, A warning and a welcoming all at once.

We are so much more than skin can hold.

When I look in the mirror, I don’t see a poem.

I have lived too many lives to be only one thing, and instead of attempting to mesh them into a form of a human being, I have decided to love every jagged edge of mine.

A beautiful woman looking at her image in the mirror may very well believe the image is herself. An ugly woman knows it is not.

Money… is like a beautiful thoroughbred horse – very powerful & always in action, but unless this horse is trained when very young, it will be an out-of-control & dangerous animal when it grows to maturity.

I believe in the hands that work, in the brains that think, and in the hearts that love…I believe in sunshine, fresh air, friendship, calm sleep, beautiful thoughts.

You’re as beautiful as the moon in the wilderness of the moon.

I have always liked the contrast between being blonde and having dark features.

To tell a woman who is forty, “You look like sixteen,” is boloney. The blarney way of saying it is “Tell me how old you are, I should like to know at what age women are the most beautiful.

So grand yet so small, so important yet so irrelevant, so beautiful yet so shallow, must thee live in illusion or does real life leave too much of a confusion?

My loneliness envies company. I searched for it for years, a specific kind of love. We all dream of something perfect though could find something so much more beautiful.