“You made me realize that i could be loved and beautiful too, that i could be counted amongst the moon and stars too.”

You are a miracle. Every essence of you is magic. On days you doubt yourself, I hope you know, the universe resides in you.

I keep you in my heart, like a dream unfulfilled. Like an incomplete wish. Like something I can crave but never have. Ever since the beginning of time, what has love been anyway? if not longing or heartbreak?

Aren’t all poets born from tragedy?

You are a nameless prayer, my heart begs to be brought again to existence.

I have inherited my fathers rage and my mothers silence. Everyday is a survival. I am a fire burning, just invisible.

Brown daughters are just fragile glass houses always on the verge of shattering.

I believe we all deserve good endings. We were kind people before this world turned us cruel.

They said everything I lost will come back to me. I said -everything I’ve lost is too lost to ever come back to Me.

My love isn’t love. It is devotion. I don’t fall in love, I shatter. I don’t love, I worship.

I’ve been so hurt. Just love me enough that my heart heals and all my scars worship your name.

Even when the blood in my veins is the same as them, every cell in my body is against becoming like them. What a curse it is to hate the very thing that birth you.

I want to write happy poems on new years. But grief doesn’t have timelines, and it refuses to let go of me.

Without this sadness I wouldn’t even know who I am.

You seem like such a long ago; but you were supposed to be my forever?

I don’t say I know what love is. But whatever it is, you are its every shade.

All the dreams you planted in my eyes, will someday haunt you alive.

I think scars are like battle wounds – beautiful, in a way. They show what you’ve been through and how strong you are for coming out of it.

The object of the artist is the creation of the beautiful. What the beautiful is another question.

I will make such a wonderful India that all Americans will stand in line to get a visa for India.

Even though Prince wasn’t rapping and it was a whole different era, it shows how artists expressed themselves without saying too much, and that was the real beauty of the art.

I’d imagine my wedding as a fairy tale… huge, beautiful and white.

God honors a beautiful blend of gift and grit! He gives the gift, and He expects us to have the grit to practice and learn how to use it effectively.

That’s why we love football: it’s not about the money or about the hairstyle or the dancing. We want to see beautiful goals, great tackles, fair play, and all this stuff.

It’s never fun when we’re in the midst of the storm. But when we land someplace we know we never could have found on our own, it is a beautiful thing.