I'm learning how to taste everything.

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

I don’t know what I’m doing in the next five minutes and she has the next ten years figured out. I’ll worry about making it out of ninth grade alive. Then I’ll think about a career path.

Rumors are spread by jealous people

Everybody told me to be a man. Nobody told me how.

I look at my homely sketch. It doesn't need anything. Even through the river in my eyes I can see that. It isn't perfect and that makes it just right.

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