Everyone's chest is a living room wall with awkwardly placed photographs hiding fist-sized holes - Andrea Gibson

If we never deny
the inevitable end
of the story,
we will write it
more beautiful
while we're alive.

I started talking to the stars in the sky instead. I said, “Tell me about the big bang.” The stars said, “It hurts to become.

I know there are things I haven't survived
I know there are people in this world who have had to work really hard to survive me,
I don't ever want to take that lightly
But I want the heavy to anchor me brave, to anchor me loving, to anchor me in something that will absolutely hold me to my word
When I tell Cupid I intend to keep walking out to the tip of his arrow,
to bend it back towards myself,
to aim for my goodness; 'til the muscle in my chest tears from the stretch of becoming.