Without My Wounds, Who Was I? My

What Was Beauty Unless You Intended To Use It, Like A Hammer, Or A Key? It Was Just Something For Other People To Use And Admire, Or Envy, Despise. To Nail Their Dreams Onto Like A Picture Hanger On A Blank Wall. And So Many Girls Saying, Use Me, Dream Me.

I Was Always Mortified.didn't They Know They Were Tying Thier Mothers To The Ground? Weren't Chains Ashamed Of Their Prisoners?

For She Is My Love, And Other Women Are But Big Bodies Of Flame.

As An Artist, You Can Never Get What You Want. What You Do Never Approaches What You Want It To Be.

How Vast Was A Human Being's Capacity For Suffering. The Only Thing You Could Do Was Stand In Awe Of It. It Wasn't A Question Of Survival At All. It Was The Fullness Of It, How Much Could You Hold, How Much Could You Care.