It's your worst sin saving your f***ing life; It's the devil's knife carving holes into your soul so angels have a way to make their way inside; Life doesn't rhyme. Still, life is poetry, not math. The whole world's a stage, but the stage is a meditation mat. You tilt your head back; you breathe. when your heart is broken, you plant seeds in the cracks and you pray for rain.

I’ve written this poem before but always through a window, never through an open door.

This is my body. It is no one's but mine.

I don't have a single plan for my life more important than learning to love people well.

Do you think anger is a sincere emotion or the timid motion of a fragile heart trying to beat away its pain?

My heart is still a leather jacket I am waiting to give to someone sweet.

Someday we will dare to trade good for true