If I run or breathe too deep, the cheap stitches holding me together will snap, and all the stickiness inside will pour out and burn through the concrete.

It is easier not to say anything. Shut your trap, button your lip, can it. All that crap you hear on TV about communication and expressing feelings is a lie. Nobody really wants to hear what you have to say.

We've fallen down on our responsibility to our children by somehow creating this world where they're surrounded by images of sexuality; and yet, we as adults struggle to talk to kids honestly about sex, the rules of dignity and consent.

I am learning how to be angry and sad and lonely and joyful and excited and afraid and happy.

I doubt trees are ever told to 'be the screwed-up ninth-grader.'

In one aspect, yes, I believe in ghosts, but we create them. We haunt ourselves.

I won the wintergirl trip over the border into dangerland.