The past is like a handful of dust. It filters through your fingers, disappearing little by little. I wish, for one day, I could go back. In another life, I would do things differently.
I say what I think. I’m a real person, not some manufactured pop tart who’s afraid to step out of the hotel room. I am flawed. I swear I have the occasional cocktail, I pick my nose and I fart. I’m not running for any presidential campaign at the moment. I’m a sassy girl.
I don’t care what people say about my relationship; I don’t care what they say about my boobs. People are buying my songs; I have a sold-out tour. I’m getting incredible feedback from my music.
I’m going to let love lead the way, always. And I was born with this blind-blind ambition, and it’s kind of gotten me here to this point. And I think that I’ll stick to it.
I’m okay with having bad dance moves. I’m okay with having horrible lower teeth. That’s what makes me me, and for some reason, it’s worked out all right.
I remember really vividly kneeling by my bed as a nine-year-old, saying my prayers and asking God to give me boobs that were so big that if I laid on my back I wouldn’t be able to see my feet.
