Actually I don't know if honesty is a strength or some kind of weakness.

I know my mind is made of matter but I need to know exactly what is the matter at it's core? Because my heart is just a muscle and simply put, it's sore.

People talk about my image like I come in two dimensions, like lipstick is a sign of my declining mind, like what I happen to be wearing the day that someone takes my picture is my new statement for all womankind.

I fear that Donald Trump will continue to be followed around by the media in its totality as he continues to rail against Hillary Clinton.

And thoughts of no other man but you could possibly get through the picket lines to enter into my mind.

I don't like my language watered down, I don't like my edges rounded off.

I can't wait to get back to New York City where at least when I walk down the streat, no one ever hesitates to tell me exactly what they think of me.