There Are Many Different Ways To Be

One Of The Things That Struck Me When I Came To The U.s. Was Discovering American Poverty.

Is Love This Misguided Need To Have You Beside Me Most Of The Time? Is Love This Safety I Feel In Our Silences? Is It This Belonging, This Completeness?

This Is Our World, Although The People Who Drew This Map Decided To Put Their Own Land On Top Of Ours. There Is No Top Or Bottom, You See.

You Can't Write A Script In Your Mind And Then Force Yourself To Follow It. You Have To Let Yourself Be.

Red Was The Blood Of The Siblings Massacred In The North, Black Was For Mourning Them, Green Was For The Prosperity Biafra Would Have, And, Finally, The Half Of A Yellow Sun Stood For The Glorious Future.