“Am i meant to untangle the knots in my own muscles? Do they think its as simple as a few tangles in my own hair?”

I should have known when I started to fall in love, It was never meant to last long.

I am an emotional equation, continually miscalculation, escalation, you should be elated!

You’ve retracted your rays of warmth. You’ve pulled the clouds to cover sunlight. I think everyone is growing more concerned as the days keep passing and you’re still absent.

What started as a friendly fire quickly turned into assassination. What did i do to jump to number one in your hit list?

These words crash over and threaten to destroy me. I cannot find the stars so far beneath these waves of insecurity and mistrust, their light has seemed to vanish.

Have I been buried alive by chronic pain? I can taste the dirt as they put me in the earth, thick on my lips like the honey that drips down my lips.

Be proud of a body that bares the burden of being buried only to bloom.

Speak to me again, so I’m writing another poem i’ll never send.

I’d rather suffer in silence than be subjected to deafening stares. I feel like I’m in an abusive relationship with my body, no one can see the bruises.

Don’t you know that shedding your pain only makes it reverberate.

On my worst days my brain tries to trick me into wishing i stayed. Its really trying to convince me that i didn’t deserve to survive.

I’m actually great at being alone. It was being abandoned that was hard.

If we found out tomorrow that oxygen was poisonous I would try to spend forever in your exhales.

I want to find my soul rather than lose it.

There are days I want to pretend you are just a call away.

I can scream into every passing storm cloud, but that will not bring you back. I can yell at god as i sob over crinkled pictures, but all i can grasp are memories.

Neither rings, bright chains, nor bracelets, perfumes, flowers, nor well-trimmed hair, Grace a man like polished language, th’ only jewel he should wear.

I have been 130 lbs. as well as 215 lbs. I have had blond, strawberry blond, green, pink and purple hair, and none of that has ever exempted me from having lewd comments flung at me in the street.

Nowadays, they have more trouble packing hair dryers than baseball equipment.

A wig is a wig is a wig.

So when I got to 50 I just thought, Hold on: I’m thin. I’ve got my hair. I’m well off. I survived, you know

Sometimes when the wind is blowing in my hair, I cry because its coolness is too beautiful

Step out from behind the words. When you’re a writer you can imagine that the words speak for you and are you, but they’re not. You are this living breathing bad hair day kind of person.

There’s not a hair extension or a makeup artist that can make me feel the way I feel when i give back