Life was small but good. (15)

This was not a fearie tale. This was not the movies. This was life. It hurt more. It was excruciating. It was excruciatingly beautiful.

He might be faithless but I believe in him.

I wrote poetry from the time I could write. That was the only way I could begin to express who I was but the poems didn’t make sense to my teachers. They didn’t rhyme. They...

Being a good mother is being a hero. Right?

I always wondered what it must be like to lose a twin—if somehow Mary felt it like it was happening to her. If she felt physical pain.

The girl in the mirror wasn’t who I wanted to be and her life wasn’t the one I wanted to have.

Stories are like genies…They can carry us into and though our sorrows. Sometimes they burn, sometimes they dance, sometimes they weep, sometimes they sing. Like genies, everyone has one. Like genies, sometimes we forget that...

You can’t doubt so much, Psyche

I’ll be inside the one who holds you. And then I won’t be.

I stand here waiting. To disappear or sing.