We're boxed in and labeled before we're ever able to speak who we believe we are or who we dream we'll become.

Everything but "I LOVE YOU" is small talk.

And we were Banksy on an overpass in New Orleans spray-painting porch lights on the hurricane. We were welcome mats for the un-forgiven. We never sold our windpipes to make a living. We were the letters sent to the wrong address, but opened anyway. We opened anyway.

But when I thought I hit bottom, it started hitting back. There is no bruise like the bruise loneliness kicks into your spine.

Touch me ‘til my ribs become piano keys, ‘til there is sheet music scrolled across the inside of my lungs.

I’d cut my soul into a million different pieces just to form a constellation to light your way home. I’d write love poems to the parts of yourself you can’t stand. I’d stand in the shadows of your heart and tell you I’m not afraid of your dark.

Love is like sunshine. Sometimes you have to get burned to know you were there. I want to know that I'm here.