I am a lover without a lover. I am lovely and lonely and I belong deeply to myself.

My heart is a flower blossoming out of my mouth.

I’m overwhelmed. My biggest downfall is my brightest blessing, I feel too much, all the time. Ya Allah, if it’ll keep my heart soft, break my heart every day.

Two people who were once very close can without blame or grand betrayal become strangers. Perhaps this is the saddest thing in the world.

I think in Somali, I cuss in Somali, when I'm afraid I reach for somali and this language is very rich, very filling. It's an unflinching language; the crudest most terrible things sound perfectly normal in Somali.

My alone feels so good, I'll only have you if you're sweeter than my solitude.

Why do you live in your body like you will be given another? As if it were temporary. You starve it, you let anyone touch it, you berate it. Tell it that it should be completely different. You tug at your soft flesh, wish it thinner, wish it gone. You fall in love with those who praise the way it sighs under their hands, but who praises the way it holds up your weight, even when you are falling apart?