“And if I say this is a wonderful poem, Is that exaggeration?”

But all the magic I have known I’ve had to make it myself.

And she loved a boy very, very much- even more than she loved herself.

There is a place where the sidewalk ends.

And he didn’t really know where he was going, but he did know he was going somewhere because you really have to go somewhere, don’t you?

And the boy loved the tree, very much. And the tree was happy.

If the track is tough and the hill is rough, thinking you can just ain’t enough.

I keep meeting all the right people at all the wrong places.

I can be somebody’s and still be my own.

And all the colors I am inside have not been invented yet.

There are no happy endings. Endings are the saddest part, so just give me a happy middle And a very happy start.

He wasted his wishes on wishing.

I am writing these poems From inside a lion.

We can’t hold hands – someone might see. Won’t you please, Hold toes with me?

So I’m all of the love that could make it today.

Anything is possible. Anything can be.

Tell me I’m clever, Tell me I’m kind, Tell me I’m talented, Tell me I’m cute, Tell me I’m sensitive, Graceful and wise, Tell me I’m perfect – But tell me the truth.

Anything I can sing, I call a song. Anything I can’t sing, I call a poem.

I stand with Charlie Hebdo, as we all must, to defend the art of satire.

After healing I’ll run back to her – of course this poem demands a brutal ending!

I used to write poems more when I was younger, but I haven’t in a long time. I just write ideas and paragraphs and go from there.

A good joke will sell quicker than a good poem, and, measured in sweat and blood, will bring better remuneration.

I thought I’d begin by reading a poem by Shakespeare, but then I thought, why should I? He never reads any of mine.

Trying to reason with the poem is precisely how you lose it.

In you are poems that aren’t meant to be read by everyone.