To think, a sweater, is made entirely of knots. My stomach could clothe a village.

If a tree fell in the forest, and you were the only one there to hear it; if its fall to the ground didn’t make a sound, would you panic in fear that you didn’t exist, or would you bask in the bliss of your nothingness?

I am wrong more often than i am writing and even then i am often wrong

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

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.

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