“I near felt bad he choose to be so evil to me. I am a forgiving woman, but my pen... oh my wicked wicked hormonal she-pen.”

“I write with my spine, create through my heart and defiant mind. Happy or not happy, it’s real, it’s living like blood, pen and paper. Hearts that wake up racing, wanting. Trading fear in for the hurt, the hard, the challenge, the change, the pain, the stuff that makes you grow bigger, stronger, better. Granting you the crazy, the genius, the ability, the power to change the world.”

“…I felt each beat slowing as his breathe fell away from my world. “You’re going to be okay” I lied, as blood spilled painting my fingers crimson. He stared blankly gasping for breath. My fingers never worked the same after that day. They became wild, fierce---unruly. And heart? I don’t know where heart is; I think he still has her.”

“I know you didn’t feel them, and when you spoke them they stung you. I know because I know you. I forgive because my heart has not the room to deface you.”

“Here I sit like a brainless robot writing the uncensored, chaotic, evil thoughts springing about in my temperamental female brain.”

“Overexposing my innards to careless hearts and hands is a practice I am prepared to stop performing.”

“Did my courage make you crazy? Cripple you with the unknown?Did my silence create desire—make you feel things you could not discern?Is my shinning light exploding? Can your eyes not yet adjust?Is my forgiveness running through you? Knowing your pain I will not digest?Is my confidence disrupting the girl you LOVE to HATE the most?”