I am standing like shoe polish on an overstocked shelf hoping that one day someone will pick me to make things better.

The future gets no say in who we are.

Pretend – inside your skin – you've got a friend, who's willing to give you everything you ever wanted in exchange for all you've ever been.

Stop inviting walls into wide open spaces.

What paper planes and empty seats most have in common is that they are best made by children still learning how to ride things out.

Hearts don't break, y'all. They bruise and get better.

If you've never been rocked back by the presence of purpose this poem is too soon for you. Return to your mediocrity, plug it into an amplifier and rethink yourself.

The first time my town saw the sky it sucker-punched us in the throat, left us breathless, said, I'm gonna keep you awake some nights without touching you. You'll make it up, the pain, you always do.

If I didn't have so much of this life all wrong I would have gotten it right by now.

You are the home I point to that lives in my chest.

I'm ready to kill something. I'll probably only get as far as my brain cells, but I am going to kill them.

What you have to learn is how to find the unworldly in everything.

Iron deficiency can lead to a wardrobe full of crumpled clothes

The Christmas spirit will elude you'til a selfless love consumes youand the joy of giving moves you.

The anti-blackness has generated new forms of youth involvement in anti-whiteness, which in some cases is appalling.

Every day's a blessing, so I'm just out there throwing my best.

The truth is a bully we all pretend to like

In laughter we always find an unavowed intention to humiliate and consequently to correct our neighbour.

When I went to college, and I went to art school, I started to realize that Warhol was cool and that pop art was fun.

If I were a person who was non-American, I would think humanitarian intervention is just another name for United States imperialism.

The day before yesterday has always been a day of glamor, of gilt and glory. The present is sordid and prosaic. Time colors history as it does a meerschaum pipe.