I want him to see the flowers in my eyes and hear the songs in my hands.
Be love because you are.
Besides, secretly, without knowing it herself, she had been waiting for a Beast to go to.
But death is stronger than that and when you cover your eyes you are the one who can't see the dark. The dark still sees you.
Maybe I'm afraid of the sword not because I think I might fail to defend us but because I'm not so certain I won't give up and turn it on myself.
Dear Angel Juan,You used to guard my sleep like a panther biting back my pain with the edge of your teeth. You carried me into the dark dream jungle, loping past the hungry vines, crossing the shiny f...
Sometimes she wore Levi's with white-suede fringe sewn down the legs and a feathered Indian headdress, sometimes old fifties' taffeta dresses covered with poetry written in glitter, or dresses made of...
Grandma Fifi had two friends named Martin and Merlin who were afraid in a way Dirk didn't want to be. They were both very handsome and kind and always brought candies and toys when they came over for...
Grief is not something you know if you grow up wearing feathers with a Charlie Chaplin boyfriend, a love-child papoose, a witch baby, a Dirk and a Duck, a Slinkster Dog, and a movie to dance in. You c...
The most beautiful people are the ones that don't look like one race or even one sex.
I dreamed you were standing in this dark place and you touched these dead flowers and they lit up like they were electric or something. Electric lilies. Lighting up the Valley.
When Cherokee and Raphael got back to the canyon house, they set up the tepee on the grass and crept inside it. They lay on their backs, not touching, looking at the leaf shadows flickering on their c...
Maybe one night I’ll be asleep and I’ll feel a hand like a dove on my cheekbone and feel her breath cool like peppermints and when I open my eyes my mom will be there like an angle, saying in the soft...
Love, that elusive leading lady, plays too many parts to be typecast.
You have to imagine things before you can do them. Stories help us see.
Spun sugar clouds and extraterrestrial crystal vintage T-birds flying through space, morning-glory girls swinging from star-hung vines in cosmic gardens.
The fairy who was not old, not young, who was red roses, white snowfall, who was blind and saw everything, who sent stories resounding through the universe said, You much reach inside yourself where I...
Like pretty'what would it be like if i thought i was prettywhat would it be like if i carriedthat knowledge aroundlike i do the knowledge that i am a writerpretty like peonies pretty like satin pretty...
If we don’t write our stories, how will we truly know who we are? How will we define the world? How will we touch the mysteries of life?
No matter how bad things get, you can always see the beauty in them. The worse things get, the more you have to make yourself see the magic in order to survive.
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