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

“Just friends? Alright friend we won’t kiss goodnight, and I won’t hold you tight and wish that you were mine just for one night. I will separate my dreams from my eyes, separate my heart from my spine, keep clean the lines between my hands and your innards.”

“I was supposed to act breezy, but my fingertips are shaking, and my heart won’t stop its rapid beating.I’m giving in. I cannot cave.”

“I pull away, you pull me back, you grab my hand and wrap me around. What you did not know is—– my heart is my hand.”

“Tar-heart baby, let me be, let me shine bright, stop making fun of me. Stop bringing up my past un-funs.”

“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 wear my heart on my blog.”