“I felt wise and cynical as all hell.”

I felt overstuffed and dull and disappointed, the way I always do the day after Christmas.

The abstract kills, the concrete saves.

I find myself absolutely fulfilled when I have written a poem.

I want so obviously, so desperately to be loved, and to be capable of love.

If you expect nothing from somebody you are never disappointed.

I felt overstuffed and dull and disappointed, the way I always do the day after Christmas.

The abstract kills, the concrete saves.

I find myself absolutely fulfilled when I have written a poem.

It is so much safer not to feel, not to let the world touch me.

I’m sarcastic, skeptical, and sometimes callous because I’m still afraid, deep down, of letting myself be hurt.

I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life.

I knew you’d decide to be all right again.

Wear your heart on your skin in this life.

I have stitched life into me like a rare organ.

After all, we are nothing more or less than we choose to reveal.

Perhaps some day I’ll crawl back home, beaten, defeated. But not as long as I can make stories out of my heartbreak, beauty out of sorrow.

Never get bored or cynical. Yesterday is a thing of the past.