Jewel Quotes

I cry now as I write this. So lasting are the scars of the child who never feels worthy of love. So many cycles in my life of having to learn that I am indeed worthy of tenderness.

It’s pointless to focus on others, as we can only control ourselves. I set a high bar and then it is my own private race. No one knows I’m winning or losing but me.

I can’t tell you about the pain, and how my heart to this day screams to have a mom in my life. But I know that it is not safe with her. Every day I miss having a mom. But I don’t miss Nedra. I will always want a mom, the concept of what a mom is. But I don’t have that. I never did, no matter how hard I tried to fool myself. Nedra is not that. Reality wins, and I’d rather see the truth than stay in love with a fantasy.

Life takes each of us to the anvil, shapes us with fire and hammer, and some of us break while some of us become stronger, more able to face the day. Even happy.

We are not in the business of fighting darkness. We are farmers of light.

What is a spirit? Is it a thing, like a glass that can crack or a cord of wood that can be split? There is no real explanation for what a spirit is, just a sense of it, but I know that a spirit cannot be broken any more than water can be broken, or any more than air can be split apart. It can only be perceived as broken. And believing that we are broken is the same as being broken. It means we experience ourselves that way. That perception shapes our reality. It is an illusion we must strive to avoid, as great misery comes from such a belief.

At school, at home, in bars, I was an emotional contortionist, alternating between awkward self-aggrandizing and trying to win favor so as to fit in. When I wrote, I let myself be dead honest, flaws and all. But I was myself, I felt real. I went inside myself when a pen was in my hand and enjoyed that space in there.

The stealing began again with carrots, which apparently are the gateway vegetable, because soon it led to all manner of produce theft.

That’s one thing about abuse or trauma — small things will trigger you, but in an actual crisis you often stay quite calm.

Dreams last so long, even after you're gone

I did not write love songs as a sixteen-year-old. I did not write about crushes or about mean girls. I wrote about my life — about the injustices and inequities and the search for answers and self-responsibility.

Reality wins, and I'd rather see the truth than stay in love with a fantasy.

Collect beads of night / Fill your / skin with the dark weight of the / wet sky. Let boldness live in your heart / and I will recognize you / amongst the many / and claim you as my own

I am not from here,
my hair smells of the wind
and is full of constellations
and I move about this world
with a healthy disbelief
and approach my days and my work
with vaporous consequence
a touch that is translucent
but can violate stone.

My hands are small, I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken