Life is for the living. Don't let the fear of striking out let you from keep you from playing the game.

Dead girl walking” the boys say in the halls. “Tell us your secrets” the girls whisper, one toilet to another. "I am that girl. I am the spaces between my thighs, daylight shinning through. I am the bones they want, wired on a porcelain frame.

I stuff my mouth with old fabric and scream until there are no sounds left under my skin.

It's easier to floss with barbed wire than admit you like someone in middle school.

School libraries are the foundations of our culture – not luxuries.

Picasso.” He whispers like a priest. “Picasso. Who saw the truth. Who painted the truth, molded it, ripped from the earth with two angry hands.

Homework is not an option. My bed is sending out serious nap rays. I can't help myself. The fluffy pillows and warm comforter are more powerful than I am. I have no choice but to snuggle under the covers.