I Want To Make A Memorial For

The Only Number That Would Ever Be Enough Is 0. Zero Pounds, Zero Life, Size Zero, Double-zero, Zero Point. Zero In Tennis Is Love. I Finally Get It.

I Smile And Play Pretend Through The Morning Show In The Kitchen.

I Don't Just Use Yarn From A Store. I Buy Old Sweaters From Consignment Shops. The Older The Better, And Unravel Them. There Are Countries Of Women In This Scarf/shawl/blanket. Soon It Will Be Big Enough To Keep Me Warm.

You Can Tell A Book Is Real When Your Heart Beats Faster. Real Books Make You Sweat. Cry, If No One Is Looking. Real Books Help You Make Sense Of Your Crazy Life. Real Books Tell It True, Don't Hold Back And Make You Stronger. But Most Of All, Real Books Give You Hope. Because It's Not Always Going To Be Like This And Books-the Good Ones, The Ones-show You How To Make It Better. Now.

I Want To Tell Him That It's Just A Stupid Car, But Bits Of Me Are Scattered All Over Town; The Graveyard, School, Cassie's Room, The Motel, And Standing In From Of The Sink In My Mother's Kitchen. It Takes Too Much Energy To Gather All The Bits Together, So I Just Sit There And Watch Him Implode.