I Sat. And I Thought. And The

People Grow Apart, And Sometimes, There Nothing Anyone Can Do About It.

I Want To Collapse. I Want To Fall On The Sidewalk Right There And Drag Myself To The Ivy.

You Told Me I Wrote That Poem Because I Was Afraid Of Dealing With Myself. And I Used My Mom As An Excuse, Accusing Her Of Not Appreciating Or Accepting Me, When I Should Have Been Saying Those Words Into A Mirror.

The Road To Publication Is Like A Churro - Long And Bumpy, But Sweet.

Sometimes We Have Thoughts That Even We Don’t Understand. Thoughts That Aren’t Even True—that Aren’t Really How We Feel—but They’re Running Through Our Heads Anyway Because They’re Interesting To Think About. If You Could Hear Other People’s Thoughts, You’d Overhear Things That Are True As Well As Things That Are Completely Random. And You Wouldn’t Know One From The Other. It’d Drive You Insane. What’s True? What’s Not? A Million Ideas, But What Do They Mean?