Everybody Told Me To Be A Man.

The Stuffing/puking/stuffing/puking/stuffing/puking Didn't Make Her Skinny, It Made Her Cry.

You Were Born With The Seeds Of Your Talent, The Ability To Observe The World Around You And Weave Piece Of It Into A Story. I Believe That Most -- If Not All -- People Are Born With These Seeds. What Separates The Writers From The Non-writers Is That The Writers Actually Sit Down And, You Know... Write.

I Am A Gluttonous, Gorging Failure. A Waste. My Body Isn’t Used To High-sugar Carbs Laced With Witchcraft. It Can Barely Cope With Soup And Crackers.

I Need A New Friend. I Need A Friend, Period. Not A True Friend, Nothing Close Or Share Clothes Or Sleepover Giggle Giggle Yak Yak. Just A Pseudo-friend, Disposable Friend. Friend As Accessory. Just So I Don't Feel Or Look So Stupid.

Picasso.” He Whispers Like A Priest. “picasso. Who Saw The Truth. Who Painted The Truth, Molded It, Ripped From The Earth With Two Angry Hands.