What are you going to do if you find art, Pen? You going to steal some and put it in the van? I'm going to remember. When there was art.
When they first kiss, there on the beach, they will kneel at the edge of the Pacific and say a prayer of thanks, sending all the stories of love inside them out in a fleet of bottles all across the oc...
Witch Baby wanted to ask Ping how to find her Jah-Love angel. She knew Raphael was not him, even though Raphael had the right eyes and smile and name. She knew how he looked--the angel in her dream--b...
Part of me wanted to swoon into nothing, but the other women’s bones were talking. I didn’t see the bones but I knew they were there, under the house. The little runaway bones of skinny, hungry girls...
Sometimes she has imagined what it would be like to fly, to live in the river, to run like a horse. She has dreamed of that freedom, that power, and fears the wildness in herself that wants to live as...
Sometimes you fall, spinning through space, grasping for the things that keep you on this earth. Sometimes you catch them.
Under the ground seep the toxins of the population that lives above. If you have to, you will eat roots and earthworms. It is always night. Candles burn in lanterns made from tin cans. When it is nigh...
Everyone whirled around her, entranced by the stories in which they recognized themselves, but in the stories they were also more than themselves and it always felt at the end fulfilled, not meaningle...
I will go to campus alone dressed in antique silk slips and beat-up cowboy boots and gypsy beads, and I will study poetry. I will sit on the edge of the fountain in the plaza and write.
Maybe he was real. Maybe I'd made him up. Either way, he didn't think I needed him anymore. Maybe he was right.
Maybe her own tears were the poison that made her grow.
People worry so much. Just enjoy your body. That you can love. And you're alive.
Relieved because what I dreaded most in the whole world was going to happen and I wouldn’t have to live with it anymore—the fear. There is the relief of finally not being alone and the relief of being...
She was free, still, like a child, the way it is before you are seen and then after that you can never remember who you are unless someone else shows it to you.
She wished she had a little yellow house of her own, with a flower box full of real flowers and herbs – pansies and rosemary – and a sweet lover who would swing dance with her in the evenings and cook...
The lesson of this life is not for me to touch you again. It is to accept who I am now and not feel shame.
Under the pink Harlequin sunglasses strawberry dangling charms, and sugar-frosted eyeshadow she was really almost beautiful.
Magic can be found in stolen moments.
NightingaleDid I wound you, mutilate. Take away your voice. Did I cut something from you. Leave you locked in silence?This is what you do: you sing. Every part of you. Your locks of hair sing, your ey...
Take my eye, I say. I have another.
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