I you can’t see anything beautiful about yourself, get a better mirror. Look a little closer, stare a little longer. Because there is something inside you that made you keep trying despite everyone who told...

She tells me about dreams. She says my dreams are helium and balloons, and I’ve made the mistake of letting go a few to many times, but I still got this one. Tied around my...

It’s not magic. I remember because I make comparisons. Not in terms of better or worse, just different. And not all of these memories are great, but they’re mine.Which lends way to believe, that none...

We don’t always get the answers we want, sometimes a simple look can haunt us enough to know some ghosts need their rest.

I can’t stop.

Please, sit in my sky and let me polish your shine.

We grew up learning to cheer on the underdog because we see ourselves in them.

If your heart is broken, make art with the pieces.”[Blueprint for a Breakthrough (2013)]

Don’t let your luggage define your travels, each life unravels differently.

in 5th grade when I was being called ugly more often than I was being called by my name it was margery williams and the velveteen rabbit that taught me about beauty specifically the scene...

Someone once told me that the finer points of devotion are about the size of a pinhole, and there are millions of them. And if you could connect each dot, then you’ve got a diagram...

And if you can’t see anything beautiful about yourself, get a better mirror. Look a little closer. Stare a little longer. Because there’s something inside you that made you keep trying despite everyone who told...

You see, the deaf have an intimacy with silence. It’s there in their dreams.

We somehow must become what we are not, sacrificing what we are, to inherit the masquerade of what we will be.

Don’t tell me you’re not beautiful. You’re the kind of beautiful the blind would see if we could figure out some way to give them three seconds of sight.

There’s 6.5 billion people curled up like fists protesting death, but every breath we take has to be given back; a nine year old boy taught me that.

You better dust off your etiquette, better sit like you did back at whatever grade that made it clear to you that your teachers are not your parents, and that any mess you made remains...

I’m not the only kid who grew up this way. Surrounded by people who used to say that rhyme about sticks and stones. As if broken bones hurt more than the names we got called,...

It’s not about putting forth the questions, it’s about accepting the answers we ask for.