Hey, are you a boy or a — never mind, can I have a push on the swing?” And some day, y’all, when we grow up, it’s all gonna be that simple.

We are all instruments pulling the bows across our own lungs. Windmills, still startling in every storm. Have you ever seen a newborn blinking at the light? I wanna do that every day. I wanna know what the kite called itself when it got away, when it escaped into the night.

Do you know they found land mines in woman's souls.

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.

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

I intend to leave this life so shattered there's gonna have to be a thousand separate heavens for all of my flying parts

Yes, I like girls; Yes, I like boys; I like boys who like boys; I like girls who wear toys and girls who don't; I like girls who don't call themselves girls; Crew cuts or curls or that really bad hair phase in between.