No one else “makes
When a man strikes another man, he better have a good reason. There is never a good reason for a man to strike a woman.
The woman knows from living with the abusive man that there are no simple answers. Friends say: “He’s mean.
If you spend time with crazy and dangerous people, remember – their personalities are socially transmitted diseases; like water poured into a container, most of us eventually turn into – or remain – whoever we surround ourselves with. We can choose our tribe, but we cannot change that our tribe is our destiny.
He will experience that prickle, that shiver of disgust that afflicts him in both his happiest and most wretched moments, the one that asks him who he thinks he is to inconvenience so many people, to think he has the right to keep going when even his own body tells him he should stop.
Theirs was the eternal youth of an alternating self, a youth with the constant although unfulfilled promise of growing up
Your house was not yours, but your late father’s, and his pool
was almost as shallow as I was when I asked if you thought I looked good …
Your bedroom walls were covered in pictures, and your shag carpet
was almost as green as I was when I realized I wasn’t the only one
Sometimes you just have to be there to understand, even if being there makes no sense at all.” – excerpt from: freefalling
How long y’ think it’ll take t’git that wild streak out im?”
“Well, Brother Tiggins, that’ll depend on how long he can weather the leather.
On a nightstand in a teenager’s room, a glass vase filled with violets leans precariously against a wall. The only thing saving the vase from a thousand-piece death on the hardwood floor is the groove in the nightstand’s surface that catches the bottom of vase, and of course the wall itself. The violets, nearly a week old, droop in the light of a waning gibbous moon. Wrinkled petals are already piling up on the floor between the nightstand and the wall, and a girl only six days sixteen stares at the dying bouquet from her bed.