Nothing Sparkly Can Stay.

My Boyfriend Suggested I Write Two Pages A Day. He Wouldn't Take Me Out If I Hadn't Done My Two Pages. That's How I Wrote My Second Novel.

I Really Do Like Listening To Stuff That's Happened To Other People. I Guess That's Why I Like To Read.

Suddenly It Wasn't Only A Personal Thing To Me. I Could Picture Hundreds And Hundreds Of Boys Living On The Wrong Sides Of Cities, Boys With Black Eyes Who Jumped At Their Own Shadows. Hundreds Of Boys Who Maybe Watched Sunsets And Looked At Stars And Ached For Something Better. I Could See Boys Going Down Under Street Lights Because They Were Mean And Tough And Hated The World, And It Was Too Late To Tell Them That There Was Still Good In It, And They Wouldn't Believe You If You Did.

Some Are Going, Some Are Staying....i'm In Between.

...people Get Hurt In Rumbles, Maybe Killed. I'm Sick Of It Because It Doesn't Do Any Good. You Can't Win...even If You Whip Us. You'll Still Be Where You Were Before- At The Bottom. And We'll Still Be The Lucky Ones With All The Breaks. So It Doesn't Do Any Good, The Fighting And The Killing. It Doesn't Prove A Thing.