None of us are pretty, but our ugly has an alibi.

If you’re handing out flashlights in the dark, start handing out stars.

The trauma said, ‘Don’t write these poems. Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.

I'm not lookin' for someone who can save me. Life rafts might keep you afloat but they rarely get you anywhere and I've got places I wanna go. So break me in two, peel back my rib cage and cover every page of my heart with love poems you will burn someday.

Let me also say I wanna make you sandwhiches, And soup, And peanut butter cookies, Though, the truth is peanutbutter is actually really bad for you 'cause they grow peanuts in old cotton fields to clean the toxins out of the soil, But hey, you like peanutbutter and I like you!

If you ever reach enlightenment. will you remember how to laugh?

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