Document the moments you feel most in love with yourself - what you're wearing, who you're around, what you're doing. Recreate and repeat.

I won't glorify or romanticise heartbreak, for me it was a kind of death and I was forced to keep living.

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?

Sad people have the gift of time, while the world dizzies everyone else; they remain stagnant, their bodies refusing to follow pace with the universe. With these kind of people everything aches for too long, everything moves without rush, wounds are always wet.

It's not my responsibility to be beautiful. I'm not alive for that purpose. My existence is not about how desirable you find me.

Light attracts light. But sometimes your light attracts moths and your warmth attracts parasites. Protect your space and energy

My heart is a flower blossoming out of my mouth.