Home is in my hair, my lips, my arms, my thighs, my feet and my hands. I am my own home. And when I wake up crying in the morning, thinking of how lonely I am, I pinch my skin, tug at my hair, remind myself that I am alive. Remind myself to step outside and greet the morning. Remind myself that it’s all about forward motion. It’s all about change. It’s all about that elusive state.
Medicine, law, business— these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance— these are what we stay alive for.
━ Dead Poets Society
Be humble for you are made of earth.
Be noble for you are made of stars.
guilt, shame, disgust,
as I shove them
down my throat.
Trying to fill myself up,
only to have it emptied out.