I Will Love Myself Despite The Ease

I Make A Good Living Doing What I Do.

I Don't Want To Turn Any Of This Into Poetry / But / You're So Beautiful / Flowers Turn Their Heads To Smell You

My Experiences With Violence In Schools Still Echo Throughout My Life But Standing To Face The Problem Has Helped Me In Immeasurable Ways.

I'm Not The Only Kid Who Grew Up This Way, Surrounded By People Who Used To Say That Rhyme About Sticks And Stones, As If Broken Bones Hurt More Than The Names We Got Called, And We Got Called Them All. So We Grew Up Believing No One Would Ever Fall In Love With Us, That We'd Be Lonely Forever, That We'd Never Meet Someone To Make Us Feel Like The Sun Was Something They Built For Us In Their Toolshed. So Broken Heartstrings Bled The Blues, And We Tried To Empty Ourselves So We'd Feel Nothing. Don't Tell Me That Hurts Less Than A Broken Bone...

I Sit Before Flowers 
hoping They Will Train Me In The Art 
of Opening Up