Then You Hold Life Like A Face

What Would People Look Like If We Could See Them As They Are, Soaked In Honey, Stung And Swollen, Reckless, Pinned Against Time?

To Love Life, To Love It Even When You Have No Stomach For It And Everything You've Held Dear Crumbles Like Burnt Paper In Your Hands, Your Throat Filled With The Silt Of It. When Grief Sits With You, Its Tropical Heat Thickening The Air, Heavy As Water More Fit For Gills Than Lungs; When Grief Weights You Like Your Own Flesh Only More Of It, An Obesity Of Grief, You Think, How Can A Body Withstand This? Then You Hold Life Like A Face Between Your Palms, A Plain Face, No Charming Smile, No Violet Eyes, And You Say, Yes, I Will Take You I Will Love You, Again.

I Wanted To Be A Writer Since I Was In High School, But I Never Thought It Was Possible.

There Is A Comfort In Knowing That You Don’t Have To Pretend Anymore, That You Are Going To Do Everything Within Your Power To Heal.

It's Impossible To Feel Good About Yourself If You Are Doing Things That You Aren't Proud Of. . . . It's Essential That You . . . [do] Things You Can Respect And Admire.