“I can assure you that I don’t wake up every day with a smile upon my face, and the distance from happiness in the morning isn’t set at a constant rate.”

Tell me I’m sun-kissed, but you burn my skin. And you already told me, I was paper thin.

They hit like waves, the memories of those old summer days. Memories you’d have thought to erase, but they crash ashore without haste.

I write poems of the past; they reveal the reasons we didn’t last.

My body is a field site of muscle memory and weathered bones.

I can’t take it all in or else I’ll grow cold when the heat already escapes my fingers and toes.

I wish you could feel it when it’s dark at night, and I think of you when I pass the streetlights. But I know you feel the care without me being there.

Healing means looking within when you want to move on. Healing means letting go when your grip is too tight.

When you write me into your story, don’t set my end in stone. Feel free to let me go. I’d like to join your story, but remember I have my own.

I want to tell them how tired I am because I don’t think it shows. But maybe it’s the same for them – all strangers to the weight each of us carries. So alone, we carry these loads.

Reading has always been my sweetest escape, but I write to convey that which I want to escape or what scares me to say, even if it’s something positive.

We’re so distant, words can’t save us.

I lost touch with the world around me – gone unnoticed by that which surrounds me, but I must find the presence of that which grounds me if I am to once again grasp onto everything I lost touch with.

It takes less for me to be impacted, for my state of being to worsen.

You wonder why you didn’t do it sooner – why you didn’t clear your mind when the clouds loomed.

I was never lonely alone because love has come to me in many forms, and one of them was you.

And I saw forever in your eyes ‘til the sunset started to dim your light. You told me you’d always hold me tight, but your warmth faded with the bright.

Tis a good thing to laugh at any rate; and if a straw can tickle a man, it is an instrument of happiness.

No matter what’s happening in the Middle East – the Arab Spring, et cetera, the economic challenges, high rates of unemployment – the emotional, critical issue is always the Israeli-Palestinian one.

And no matter what’s happening in the Middle East – the Arab Spring, et cetera, the economic challenges, high rates of unemployment – the emotional, critical issue is always the Israeli-Palestinian one.

Such innovations have given Dubai a competitive edge and an accelerated growth rate that few could match.

Do you know what our suicide rate would be if we didn’t have television? Do you know how much happiness I’ve brought to people who couldn’t get out of the house but could watch Love Boat?

Everything should be first-rate in a person, his face, clothes, soul and thoughts.

A book in a man’s brain is better off than a book bound in calf – at any rate it is safer from criticism.

Rated R movies are few and far between, nowadays. We’re all seeing less and less rated R movies, and less and less of them are being made.