I Don't Speak With Proper Grammar. I

I Turn And I Slowly Walk Away And I Don't Look Back. It Has Always Been A Fault Of Mine, But It Is The Way I Am. I Never Look Back. Never.

I Think As An Artist Or A Writer It's Ok To Want To Control Your Own Work.

You Don't Have To Follow Anybody's Conventions.

We Did What Our People Do All The Time, We Told Ourselves Something We Did Was Right And We Found A Way To Justify It, Even Though We Knew It Was Wrong.

I Stand, Walk Over To Him, Sit Down On His Bed, Put My Arms Around Him, Hug Him. He Hugs Me Back Strong And I Can Feel The Shame Coming Through His Arms. I Am A Criminal And He Is A Judge And I Am White And He Is Black, But At This Moment None Of That Matters. He Is A Man Who Needs A Friends And I Can Be His Friend.