I have tried to be righteous all my life. Yet I have never been content.

If you let hope inside, it takes you over. It feeds on your insides and uses your bones to climb and grow. Eventually it becomes the thing that is your bones, that holds you together. Holds you up until you don't know how to live without it anymore. To pull it out of you would kill you entirely.

Why are some things easier to write than say?

Teens find out a lot from other teens.

Caring about anyone leaves you vulnerable.

It's been so long since I've let myself feel anger that I don't just feel it. It covers my mouth and I swallow it down, the taste sharp and metal as though I'm gnawing through foilware.

I have tried to be righteous all my life. Yet I have never been content.