You must walk alone to find your soul.

I wish America would stop judging and criticizing teens and instead, try to understand the battles they have to fight every day.

Each reader has to find her or his own message within a book.

To keep up appearances, I stomp my room and slam the door.

I have survived. I am here. Confused, screwed up, but here. So, how can I find my way? Is there a chain saw of the soul, an ax I can take to my memories or fears?

I am angry that I starved my brain and that I sat shivering in my bed at night instead of dancing or reading poetry or eating ice cream or kissing a boy.

They yell at me because I can't see what they see. Nobody can explain to me why my eyes work different than theirs.