“I pretended to be an open book, but I was closed off and conceited.”

“Stop pretending. You wanted to be real right? This hurts, this is what it feels like, this is the growing up, the stoping pretending, the false past tap-dancing. This is the owning. This is the no-i-won’t-be-performing, this is growing out of the glamour and back into the tattered shabby mis-constructed hearts shadow. This is me owning. This is me admitting. This is me realing-up, maning-up. growing up, wanting up.”

“I’m too tired, too tired hearing your mean-wording, your pretending, your name-calling, sorry, not sorry, words you write, I should forgive because you didn’t mean them right? Oh plus I deserved them? Alright.”

“[Happily broken] arms unlocked. Eyes wide open.Eager. Torn apart. Heart explosive.Fingers composing [Happily broken].Come in, come in. I am ready. I am open.Happy to be open [Happily broken].”

“If I had no imagination, I would hate you. But I don’t want to be part of your reality.”

“I want to read, write, and nothing else. I do not want to get married, I do not want to go to church, I do not want to file taxes; I do not want to eat. But Grandma disagrees, and Grandma always wins.”

“...I feel like a traitor, a phony, a fake. But I am a hypocrite with the best intentions, and I need kissing desperately.”