I write in seconds. I don’t stop. I don’t think. I simply write and when it comes, it flows and it makes sense because it’s genuine. I don’t understand thought-out poetry. It doesn’t seem real to me.

They always come back, but we don’t always answer.

I stopped writing in the obvious. I wrote how I saw it and if they don’t understand it, that’s fine.

I didn’t fear you. I feared us. I feared what could have been. I feared what could be. I feared the connection we had between each other. The toxicity because I could grasp the danger.

We grow apart because we grow in different stages and not all of our stages align.

If I had amnesia, I know I would fall in love with you all over again.

The fact that neither of us made sense was the beauty of it.

I think we might’ve met in a past life. You know, one of those you pass and think, wow you’re kind of beautiful. Just one of those.

I romanticized him until he was the perfect being. A soul so beautiful, but so immensely evil too.

To fall in love with pain is to fall in love with art.

You didn’t understand the poem, but that was because it wasn’t for you. It was for me to understand the pain you put me through.

I am made of beauty. I notice beauty all around me every day. I am beautifully blessed!

The written word imparts a gravitas the spoken word lacks. The underlying assumption is that time and thought has been expended on what was written, even if that is not the case.

Saying of the ProphetStruggleThe holy warrior is he who struggles with himself.

The wavelets flung themselves up as if trying to pat my feet and I darted back, laughing, and picked up my skirts to chase them back as they receded, in a game of tag more ancient than I then knew.

I am not a fitness freak, but I do my regular exercises.

It is a common remark that men talk most who think least; just as frogs cease their quacking when a light is brought to the water-side.

Dancers are instruments, like a piano the choreographer plays.

Frequent punishments are always a sign of weakness or laziness on the part of a government.

I'm sorry I thought I paid my bill. I was wrong.

Plans can be like a winged horse, but their execution plods along pulling carts.