I can’t tell anymore when I’m asleep and when I’m awake, or which is worse.
A scar is a sign of strength. . .the sign of a survivor.
She offered herself to the big, bad wolf and didn’t scream when he took the first bite.
I’m the girl who trips on the dance floor and can’t find her way to the exit. All eyes on me.
I knew how much it hurt to be the daughter of people who can’t see you, not even if you are standing in front of them stomping your feet.
My face becomes a Picasso sketch, my body slicing into pieces.
i decapitated dandelions all morning, leaving carnage and death strewn into my path.
Do I want to die from the inside out or the outside in?
I breathe in slowly. Food is life. I exhale, take another breath. Food is life.
I am so sorry. I wish you knew even one tenth of one percent of how sorry I am. …It was my fault. Can I kill myself here, or should I do it outside, so the mess on your carpet doesn’t upset your mother?
I am locked into the mirror and there is no door out.
When people don’t express themselves, they die one piece at a time. You’d be shocked at how many adults are really dead inside—walking through their days with no idea who they are, just waiting for a heart attack or cancer or a Mack truck to come along and finish the job. It’s the saddest thing I know.
I believe that you’ve created a metaphorical universe in which you can express your darkest fears. In one aspect, yes, I believe in ghosts, but we create them. We haunt ourselves, and sometimes we do such a good job, we lose track of reality.
She turns to us, acts surprised to see us, then does the bit with the back of the hand to the forehead. "You’re lost!" "You’re angry!" "You’re in the wrong school!" "You’re in the wrong country!" "You’re on the wrong planet!
We’ve fallen down on our responsibility to our children by somehow creating this world where they’re surrounded by images of sexuality; and yet, we as adults struggle to talk to kids honestly about sex, the rules of dignity and consent.
What do I want? The answer to that question does not exist.
I want to make a memorial for our turkey. Never has a bird been so tortured to provide such a lousy dinner.
We have to acknowledge that adolescence is that time of transition where we begin to introduce to children that life isn’t pretty, that there are difficult things, there are hard situations, it’s not fair. Bad things happen to good people.
Sometimes I think high school is one long hazy activity: if you are tough enough to survive this, they’ll let you become an adult. I hope it’s worth it.
CONJUGATE THIS:<br>I cut class, you cut class, he, she, it cuts class. We cut class, they cut class. We all cut class. I cannot say this in Spanish because I did not go to Spanish today. Gracias a dios. Hasta luego.
This is where you can find your soul if you dare. Where you can touch that part of you that you’ve never dared look at before. Do not come here and ask me to show you how to draw a face. Ask me to help you find the wind.
A little kid asks my dad why that man is chopping down the tree. Dad: He’s not chopping it down. He’s saving it. Those branches were long dead from disease. All plants are like that. By cutting off the damage you make it possible for the tree to grow again. You watch – by the end of summer, this tree will be the strongest on the block.
They tied me back together, but they didn’t use double knots. My insides are draining out of the fault lines in my skin, I can feel it, but every time I check the bandages, they’re dry.
I watch some kids ask the cafeteria ladies to sign their books. What do they write: "Hope your chicken patties never bleed?" Or, maybe, "May your Jell-O always wiggle?
This camp is a forge for the army; it’s testing our mettle. Instead of heat and hammer, our trials are cold and hunger. Question is, what are we made of?
I am almost a real girl the entire drive home. I went to a diner. I drank hot chocolate and ate french fries. Talked to a guy for a while. Laughed a couple of times. A little like ice-skating for the first time, wobbly, but I did it.
Censorship is the child of fear and the father of ignorance.
I just thought of a great theory that explains everything. When I went to that party, I was abducted by aliens. They have created a fake Earth and fake high school to study me and my reactions. This certainly explains cafeteria food.
Why not spend that time on art: painting, sculpting, charcoal, pastel, oils? Are words or numbers more important than images? Who decides this? Does algebra move you to tears? Can plural possessives express the feelings in your heart? If you don’t learn art now, you will never learn to breathe!
The dead do walk and haunt and crawl into your bed at night. Ghosts sneak into your head when you’re not looking. Stars line up and volcanoes birth out bits of glass that foretell the future. Poison berries make girls stronger, but sometimes kill them. If you howl at the moon and swear on your blood, anything you desire will be yours. Be careful what you wish for. There’s always a catch.
I knew it!" He pumps a fist into the air. "You’ve fallen in love with me. You want to have my babies. We’ll get a team of horses and a covered wagon and we’ll journey to South America and raise goats.
Revision means throwing out the boring crap and making what’s left sound natural.
They mean hot like ‘I’m too good for you I got my own money don’t be frontin’ me.’ You’re more like ‘Be my boyfriend I’ll make you cookies come meet my dad ‘ know what I mean
I like cheeseburgers too much to be a model.
The one good thing about being kind of shy is that nobody bugs you when you want to be left alone.