It's Important To Tell Your Story. It's

Nothing Happened. And Everything Did. Your Whole Life You Can Be Told Something Is Wrong And So You Believe It. Why Should You Question It? But Then Slowly Seeds Are Planted Inside Of You, One By One, By A Touch Or A Look Or A Day Skateboarding In A Park, And They Start To Burst Out Of Old Hulls Shells And They Start To Sprout. And Pretty Soon There Are So Many Of Them. They Are Named Love And Trust And Kindness And Joy And Desire And Wonder And Spirit And Soulmate. They Grow Into A Garden So Dense And Thick That It Starts To Invade Your Brain Where The Old Things You Were Once Told Are Dying.

Just Like Any Woman,...we Weave Our Stories Out Of Our Bodies. Some Of Us Through Our Children, Or Our Art; Some Do It Just By Living. It's All The Same.

Pulling Heads Off Barbies, Sticking Them On The Tv Antenna And Ruining The Reception. But Thats How Witch Babies Are.

But Death Is Stronger Than That And When You Cover Your Eyes You Are The One Who Can't See The Dark. The Dark Still Sees You.

Our Eyelashes Brushed Like They Would Weave Together By Themselves, Turning Us Into One Wild Thing. I Say, “i Think I Missed You Before I Met You Even.