“My next memory is of waking up, it then being dark outside, and my brother and sister fast asleep on the couch. Sitting up I sensed something was broken. Maybe the night? It was open and alive with lights and noises and worried voices. The adults were up, and in and out: we were all waiting for something.”

“I’m not the only kidwho grew up this waysurrounded by people who used to saythat rhyme about sticks and stonesas if broken boneshurt more than the names we got calledand we got called them allso we grew up believing no onewould ever fall in love with usthat we’d be lonely foreverthat we’d never meet someoneto make us feel like the sunwas something they built for usin their tool shedso broken heart strings bled the bluesas we tried to empty ourselvesso we would feel nothingdon’t tell me that hurts less than a broken bonethat an ingrown lifeis something surgeons can cut awaythat there’s no way for it to metastasizeit does”

“I imagined there must be hundreds and thousands and millions of people quiet in the dark out there, waiting with baited breath for me, up on that stage and bathed in colored lights, to say something. I opened my mouth and—hooray—they were going to listen.”

“but I want to tell themthat all of this shitis just debrisleftover when we finally decide to smash all the things we thoughtwe used to beand if you can’t see anything beautiful about yourselfget a better mirrorlook a little closerstare a little longerbecause there’s something inside youthat made you keep tryingdespite everyone who told you to quityou built a cast around your broken heartand signed it yourselfyou signed it“they were wrong”because maybe you didn’t belong to a group or a clickmaybe they decided to pick you last for basketball or everythingmaybe you used to bring bruises and broken teethto show and tell but never toldbecause how can you hold your groundif everyone around you wants to bury you beneath ityou have to believe that they were wrongthey have to be wrong”

“What doesn’t kill you doesn’t make you stronger. It just fucks you up something rotten.”

“I dreamed you a field of running horses, Selah. For you, Bianca, a balloon the size of the sky, my body a kite you can throw into the air.Pull me by string and horse.Tell me everything won't end in death. That everything doesn't end with February. Dead wildflowers wrapped around a crying baby's throat.I've slowed my heartbeat to three beats a minute. I've redrawn the clouds into birds, a fox chasing them into the mountains.I'm going to move my hand today.I vomit ice cubes.There's a ghost next to me.Get up, Dad.(Light Boxes)”

“And as for romance? Well, I want that too.I want to fall asleep next to you, 100 times a night,so I can know you 100 times better before we hit the day light. And despite all of this,I also want amnesia so I can relive each kiss with a perfect newnessthat leaves me smashed in the arms of rapture. I want the sky to fracture underthe impossible weight of an apology because I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I want so much.I'm sorry that I'm using "I'm sorry" as a crutch to lean on for so longbut if you sing me that song of sweet logic again then I promise to make the effortto stand on my own. There is a reason that our hearts are more like a muscleand less like a bone. I've known so many people who've have grown up flexingin front of mirrors and falling for their own reflection as if that's adequate but that's bullshit.Because we only get now until the time we go and if they've only got time to love themselvesthen nobody is going to be around to hear the sound of their heartbeat echo.So lady, don't expect an apology when I tell you I'm only held togetherby a heart that pumps blue, it's the strongest muscle in my body and I'm flexing it for you”