It Takes More Strength To Cry, Admit

New York Wasn't Everything I Thought It Would Be. It Did Not Welcome Me With Open Arms. The First Year, I Was Held Up At Gunpoint. Raped On The Roof Of A Building I Was Dragged Up To With A Knife In My Back, And Had My Apartment Broken Into Three Times. I Don't Know Why; I Had Nothing Of Value After They Took My Radio The First Time.

You Bring Me To My Knees, While I'm Scratching Out The Eyes Of A World I Want To Conquer, And Deliver, And Despise. And Right While I Am Kneeling There, I Suddenly Begin To Care. And Understand That There Could Be A Person That Loves Me.

I Like Talking; I Like Playing With The Audience.

I Hate Polite Conversation. I Hate It When People Stand Around And Go, "hi, How Are You?" I Hate Words That Don't Have Any Reason Or Meaning. Also I Hate It When People Smoke In Elevators And Closed In Places. It's Just So Rude.

I Think The Silence Would Be Good With Me, And Not Interacting With People Would Be Okay. But Not Being Able To Move Outside Of The Space Would Be Hard. Not Being Able To Walk Around - The Stillness Of My Body, Physically - That Would Be The Challenge.