The Sky Is Everywhere

All the air races out of the room, and I race out with it.

I want to cry and cry and cry and cry until all the dirt in the whole forest floor has turned to mud

And then he smiles, and in all the places around the globe where it’s night, day breaks.

He touches my cheek in that tender way that he does that makes me believe in God and Buddha and Mohammed and Ganesh and Mary et al.

we need to start a new philosophical movement: messessentialism instead of existentialism: for those who revel in the essential mess that is life.

He makes a noise that’s part groan, part roar, like ahhharrrrgh

he’s so alive, he makes me feel like I could take a bite out of the whole earth.

How to get used to being without a boy who turns you into brightness?

These feminists are all about celebrating the body, its langage.” She whips the scarf in the air. “Like I said, they’re all after jouissance. As a means, of course, of subverting the dominant patriarchal paradigm and the white male literary canon

You can tell your story any way you damn well please.
It’s your solo.