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

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

I should have told You before talking in terms of Forever that any given day wears me out and works me sour, that there are nights when the sky is so clear I stand obnoxious underneath it begging for the stars to shoot at me just so I can feel at Home.

...all these kids you can't seem to make sense of would stop holding you so far off the edge of your seats if you'd start holding yourselves to the promises you make. We know you're not perfect, because we're not. And I know I'm not perfect, but I believe I was meant to be.

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

There is a point when tears don't work to wash things away anymore. Grabbing for breath has now broken my fingers.

I am standing like shoe polish on an overstocked shelf hoping that one day someone will pick me to make things better.