My hands are still shaking from
nights spent not knowing
how to want you.

I hope one day
somebody loves you
so much
that they see violets
in the bags under your eyes,
sunsets in the downward arch
of your lips
that they recognize you
as something green,
something fresh and still growing
even if sometimes
you are growing sideways
that they do not waste their time
trying to fix you.

I started raking it our and then stacks and stacks of hundred dollar bills starting coming out with it.

El arte malo es más trágicamente hermoso que el buen arte porque documenta el fracaso humano.