“My bodyHealed quickly. But the woundto my psyche was deep.Wide. First aid, too little, too late, left me hemorrhaging inside, the blood unstaunched by psychologicalbandage or love's healing magic.Eventually it scabbed over,a thick, ugly welt of memory.I work to conceal it, but no matter how hard I try, once in a whilesomething makes me pick at ituntil the scarring bleeds.In my arms, Ashante cries, innocence ripped apartby circumstance. Bloodied by inhuman will. Time will provea tourniquet. But she will alwaysbe at risk of infection.”

“My priest tells me i should not date a mormon but im just too in love with you that i'm willing to take risks”

“The ones that rip my heart from my chest are the little ones. The children, with tangled hair and dirty clothes, covering their own ugly secrets. And all they ask of me is shelter, food to warm their hollowness, a bed free of nightmares.They look at me, and through me. And it's hard to tell who's more haunted-- them or me.”

“And if we're truly one, how will I breathe when circumstance pries us apart? You are my oxygen, my sustenance, the blood inside my veins. When we touch, you are my skin, hold all my joy inside of you. When you go, I wither.”

“I Want to ShoutLeave me alone!What's wrong with you?Don't you remember who I am? Who you are?This is not a father's love! I want to scream, Can't you see what you are doing to me? What you've done to me? What you've made of me? I want to cry out, I am your little girl. I am not your girlfriend. I am not your whore. I am not my fucking mother! But he is on top of me and my shout is silenced. He is inside of me and my scream stays there too. He is finished. And I don't cry out, but I do cry a bucket of silent tears. He slithers away and at last, I quietly sob”

“Being In LoveMeans hard questions. Will I? Won't I? Should I? Could I?Yes? No? You?Me? There is no mewithout you.Is there a you without me?And if were truly one.how will I breathewhen circomstance pries us apart?You are my oxygen.my substance,the blood inside my veins.When wetouch, you are my skin.hold all my joy inside of you.When you go, I wither.”

“I fell into a big pit of black depression. That happens sometimes, when too much shit gets flung at me at once. It's like all the external pressure sucks into me, then tries to escape again. But it can't. So it builds. Throbs. Makes me feel like my skin is anxious to split. I think that feeling is why some people cut - little slices so they don't shred completely.”