I must always forget how one word is able to pick out another, to manner another, until I have got something I might have said... but did not.

Letters are false really - they are expressions of the way you wish you were instead of the way you are.

I think I've been writing black poems all along, wearing my white mask. I'm always the victim ... but no longer!

The man inside of woman ties a knot so that they will never again be separate.

They [daisies] are my favorite flower. There is something innocent and vulnerable about them as if they thanked you for admiring them.

Be careful of words, / ... they can be both daisies and bruises.

You lay, a small knuckle on my white bed; lay, that fist like a snail, small and strong at my breast. Your lips are animals; you are fed with love. At first, hunger is not wrong.