You're a free-standing landing pad held together by choir claps.

The future gets no say in who we are.

Everybody knows that smiling is for little girls, the gays and certain kinds of fish who are smiling by accident.

Everything is out there. That's why they call it everything.

The first time my town saw the sky it sucker-punched us in the throat, left us breathless, said, I'm gonna keep you awake some nights without touching you. You'll make it up, the pain, you always do.

Even good hearts know how to turn bad touch and genocide into clichés just to make room for more comfort.

You're not the only piece of patchwork birds can pull worms from.