“Well this is me without my prozac, and this is me just shy of nicotine, and mother fuckers, it’s my second time to fail anger management class.”

“Tell me my heart beats a war drumthat my eyes are not just armiesbut my spineis a harpoon.”

“Lord, let me write,leave me autistic and typinguntil my windows bust into a thousand silver dovesand I know the poem is done.”

“I should have told You before talking in terms of Foreverthat any given day wears me out and works me sour,that there are nights when the sky is so clear I stand obnoxious underneath it begging for the stars to shoot at me just so I can feel at Home.”

“Dear Angry Older People, over 21-ish, anyone who considers themselves an adult, still bitter: Next time you're wondering what wrong with kids today, you might wanna check the examples you've been giving us to work with. Because if you ever want to make sense of us, you’ve got to make sense to us, without telling us you’re too old to walk that far. You’ve got to try to understand why we like looking like rag dolls, why we like looking like the way we feel, and why we keep our senses floored when it’s you behind the wheel. And if you ever really do want to understand why we seem so angry, well for one, you told us we could be anything we wanted to be, but right now, we’re a little busy dodging bombs.”

“I no longer need you to fuck me as hard as I hated myself.”

“This is an apology letter to the both of us for how long it took me to let things go.”