The Statesman's Pocket My New Cage, He Called Me A Spectre Then Stole My Dialect To Wrench The Core Of
The statesman's pocket my new cage, he called me a spectre then stole my dialect to wrench the core of men, made me the Braille, dots beneath skin, of a blindman's game.
'The Possibility of Flight' by Lia Hills
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He said nothing. Very sarcastically.
The Beekeeper’s Apprentice by Laurie R. King
And the walls became the world all around.
'Where the Wild Things Are' by Maurice Sendak
The armies of the ambitious. For them, the future was like a giant oxygen mask, as if there was nothing to breathe in the present. When the present was all there was ever going to be.
'Paint it Black' by Janet Fitch
More super sweet work by Gyo Fujikawa
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Always learn poems by heart. They have to become the marrow in your bones. Like fluoride in the water, they'll make your soul impervious to the world's soft decay.
'White Oleander' by Janet Fitch
There are many Beth’s in the world, shy and quiet, sitting in corners till needed, and living for others so cheerfully, that no one sees the sacrifices till the little cricket on the hearth stops chirping, and the sweet, sunshiny presence vanishes, leaving silence and shadow behind.
'Little Women' Louisa May Alcott
"Words offer the means to meaning, and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth."
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