Love yourself first.
Only accept your truth.
Valentines are paper.
Every day it's you.
Happiness will be mine.
I can't breathe.
My arms are weak, my legs are faulty.
Oh, why is this true?
Never give.
Love is a fable and I live in the tale.
You.

Write again
(Right again)
He wants me to write again
(He wants me to be right again)
My soul is in my words, my blood is the flowing ink,
And I must write again
(I must be right again)
If I wish to be me
(If I wish to be free)

He asks me to keep him alive
And after his voice has faded away,
I close my eyes, and imagine him gone
My soul is immediatelying torn to shreds
I do not wish to see him dead,
For his voice to be absent from the world
If I could not see those great brown eyes,
Well how could I live, if not here for him?
If he is gone, who am I?
Empty, lost, alone
I would be a shell of me, and that's if I could even go on
No, I do not wish the see him dead
The simple thought tears my soul to shreds.

Did you ever meet a girl who's name just should have been Sunshine
Because she was so bright and warm, and her smile
Was a sunrise after a dark and stormy night, everything is bright
and even though she was a little bit strange
She wasn't quite right, you just couldn't help but enjoy her company?

That was me, once upon a time
I was a fair princess with a golden heart and a broken brain.
I was oblivious to the monsters that prowled the world
Until I met a broken girl with broken emotions and a shattered brain
And I learned that people are terrible creatures
They claw your eyes out and eat all of your food
They leave you mangled and cracked and scared and sad and about to explode
They turn us into ticking time bombs
And there are less of us every day who can cut the right wires
And we
All
Ex
Plode  .
I was a sunshine girl, then I met the storm
And I thunder and I strike, but
Somehow there is never rain
And I hurt and I love
And I remember how I was a sunshine girl,
How I lit up the world;
I still want to be a sunshine girl.

I don't think he knows
how much
he fills my
heart;
how
his movements
have made themselves
at home inside..
he makes me want
to push back
the furniture
just so
I can watch
him dance

We walked two miles through July wheat fields
that undulated  beneath Sunday morning sun
like golden swans.

The pond was glacier stone smooth, and canopied
by silver maple and swamp oak; willows lined
the  banks.

Miriam unfastened her hair, tossed her blouse
over my shoulders,  kicked her cut-offs
toward the boat’s bow,

and dove.