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?
I'd sit around dreaming that the boys I saw at shows or at work - the boys with silver earrings and big boots - would tell me I was beautiful, take me home and feed me Thai food or omelets and undress...
I wanted him to hold me, to take care of me. To make the pain dissolve away. I know that this was part of what had ruined everything but I wanted it once more anyway.
He said, You're so tiny, like a doll, you look like you might break. I wanted him to break me. Part of me did.
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...
Flowers are reincarnation. They come out of the earth of our ashes. Nothing else looks so soul-like.
Writing is very cathartic for me. As a teacher, I hear many students say that writing can be painful and exhausting. It can be, but ultimately I believe that if you push through, the process is healin...
The most beautiful people are the ones that don't look like one race or even one sex.
She went out in the city with its lights like a radioactive phosphorescence, wandered through galleries where the high-priced art on the walls was the same as the graffiti scrawled outside by taggers...
Nothing happened. And everything did. Your whole life you can be told something is wrong and so you believe it. Why should you question it? But then slowly seeds are planted inside of you, one by one,...
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.
I stand here waiting. To disappear or sing.
I dreamed of being a part of the stories—even terrifying one, even horror stories—because at least the girls in stories were alive before they died.
You are my Marilyn. You are my lake full of fishes. You are my sky set, my 'Hollywood in Miniature,' my pink Cadillac, my highway, my martini, the stage for my heart to rock and roll on, the screen wh...
Why was fabulousness important? The world was a scary, sad place and adornment was one of the only ways she knew to make herself and the people around her forget their troubles. That was why she had o...
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...
What happens to the rest of something when you smash its heart?
We no longer believe in fairy tales. But we will learn to believe in monsters.
So the spell was broken and she ran home through a tangle of words where the letters jumbled and made no sense and meant nothing, and the words were ugly and she was not to be heard or seen, she was b...
She wears a Val Surf T-shirt and boys’ boxer shorts and she has a boy’s phone number scrawled on her hand. Part of her wants to spit on it and rub it off, and part of her wishes it was written in huge...