I want him to see the flowers in my eyes and hear the songs in my hands.
What sexual preference do you hope she has?” “Happiness.” Isnt that cool?
This was not a fearie tale. This was not the movies. This was life. It hurt more. It was excruciating. It was excruciatingly beautiful.
You are so intense. Like a storm. It’s shocking how intense you are.
It was always a relief when she came home to him. Like water or food. Like music or that moment when you cut yourself with a knife and squeeze the skin and no blood oozes out.
If death is your lover, you don’t got to be afraid ever that he will ever leave you
They knew, though, she would not suffer as they had suffered. She was perfect. They were scarred.
War is being reminded that you are completely at the mercy of death at every moment, without the illusion that you are not. Without the distractions that make life worth living.
I will go to campus alone dressed in antique silk slips and beat-up cowboy boots and gypsy beads, and I will study poetry. I will sit on the edge of the fountain in the plaza and write.
I’ll be inside the one who holds you. And then I won’t be.
If you want to find the trail, if you want to find yourself, you must explore your dreams alone. You must grow at a slow pace in a dark cocoon of loneliness so you can fly like wind, like wings, when you awaken.
for frail but surprisingly strong fairies who had lost their way above groundfor burned mermaids and sick vampire girlsfor wild wolfish women with sharp teeth and leaves in their hair
Each of us has a family tree full of stories inside of us, Dirk thought. Each of us has a story blossoming out of us.
Sylvie wishes the anti-depressants had been around when she was in her early twenties, not only to rescue her from the dark tunnels that came when her brother first got sick, but also to keep her from fucking all those assholes.
I always wondered what it must be like to lose a twin—if somehow Mary felt it like it was happening to her. If she felt physical pain.
I was starting to learn how to forget the things that made me sad. It was like a charm you followed step-by-step, collecting and blending the ingredients, placing everything in its proper place. It was the magic of forgetting.
But death is stronger than that and when you cover your eyes you are the one who can’t see the dark. The dark still sees you.
Ugster vinyl pumps, Partridge Family records, plastic daisy jewelry, old postcards. . . . It’s a magpie Christmas market.
It’s important to tell your story. It’s important to listen.
You have to imagine things before you can do them. Stories help us see.
People worry so much. Just enjoy your body. That you can love. And you’re alive.
The girl in the mirror wasn’t who I wanted to be and her life wasn’t the one I wanted to have.
Under the pink Harlequin sunglasses strawberry dangling charms, and sugar-frosted eyeshadow she was really almost beautiful.
Sometimes I wanted to peel away all of my skin and find a different me underneath.
Writing is very cathartic for me. As a teacher, I hear many students say that writing can be painful and exhausting. It can be, but ultimately I believe that if you push through, the process is healing and exhilarating.