Once upon a time . . . What time are we upon and where do I belong?

After his kisses and hugs it feels like without them my body will fall apart into pieces.

Every girl is a goddess.

I dreamed you were standing in this dark place and you touched these dead flowers and they lit up like they were electric or something. Electric lilies. Lighting up the Valley.

I think that poetry is perfect for women raising children, with just bits of time and such need to connect to other women out of the isolation of motherhood.

Maybe he was real. Maybe I'd made him up. Either way, he didn't think I needed him anymore. Maybe he was right.

Our stories can set us free. When we set them free.