Let God be some tribal female who is known but forbidden.

I'm the crazy one who thinks that words reach people.

Some women marry houses. It's another kind of skin; it has a heart, a mouth, a liver and bowel movements.

Talk to me about sadness. I talk about it too much in my own head but I never mind others talking about it either; I occasionally feel like I tremendously need others to talk about it as well.

... and my love stays bitterly glowing, spasms of it will not sleep, and I am helpless and thirsty and need shade but there is no one to cover me- not even God.

I think it will be a miracle if I don't someday end up killing myself.

As it has been said: Love and a cough cannot be concealed. Even a small cough. Even a small love.