You panic button collector. You clock of beautiful ticks. You run out the door if you need to. You flock to the front row of your own class. You feather everything until you know you can always, always shake like a leaf on my family tree and know you belong here. You belong here and everything you feel is okay. Everything you feel is okay.

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.

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.

Remind me that the most fertile lands were built by the fires of volcanoes.

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.

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

You keep worrying you’re taking up too much space. I wish you’d let yourself be the milky way.