Being Good Felt Like A Heavy Coat,

We Start Out As Little Bits Of Disconnected Dust.

Anyone Who Says, “here’s My Address, Write Me A Poem,” Deserves Something In Reply. So I’ll Tell You A Secret Instead: Poems Hide. In The Bottoms Of Our Shoes, They Are Sleeping. They Are The Shadows Drifting Across Our Ceilings The Moment Before We Wake Up. What We Have To Do Is Live In A Way That Lets Us Find Them.

There Is A Place To Stand Where You Can See So Many Lights You Forget You Are One Of Them.

I'm Not Interested In Who Suffered The Most. I'm Interested In People Getting Over It.

It Is Really Hard To Be Lonely Very Long In A World Of Words. Even If You Don't Have Friends Somewhere, You Still Have Language, And It Will Find You And Wrap Its Little Syllables Around You And Suddenly There Will Be A Story To Live In.