“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.”

“You are my heart, my head, my spine-you are the beat thumping through every line, and that’s why I write–it’s the only time we can be side by side.”

“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.”

“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?”

“...you’re in my blood spreading through my heart— pumping me numb.”

“…..pump, pump, pump- where is it? It’s fading fast (the sound of his heart as I laid on his bed), it’s disappearing as i drift to sleep (but its still in my head, always in my head–haunting).”

“...I know I’ve broken all the rules of all the games, that all the great players and best love calculators recommend that you play, if you want to make someone like you a lot. But that’s okay, because I give up. I’ve got my coffee sitting in my San Francisco cup, I’ve got Kona island and a working beating heart that’s not cold, hard, or numb—very workable and capable of loving, breaking, mending and repeating. So that’s just what I’ll do. Because I’m too tired. Too tired uping all nighting wasting my precious timing wishing it was your heart pumping, wanting me— like I used to want you.”