You broke me bodily. The heart ain’t the half of it, And I’ll never learn to laugh at it In my good natured way. In fact, I’m laughing less in general, But I learned a lot at my own funeral. And I knew you’d be the death of me, So I guess that’s the price I pay.
We get a little further from perfection, each year on the road, I guess that’s what they call character, I guess that’s just the way it goes, better to be dusty than polished, like some store window mannequin, why don’t you touch me where i’m rusty, let me stain your hands.
Squint your eyes and look closer I’m not between you and your ambition I am a poster girl with no poster I am thirty-two flavors and then some And I’m beyond your peripheral vision So you might want to turn your head Cause someday you might find you’re starving and eating all of the words you said.
I’ve played the powerless in too many dark scenes. I was blessed with a birth and a death and I guess I just want some say in between.
One of my rules is: Never TRY to do anything. Just do it.
Too much is how I love you, but too well is how I know you.
I wonder what you look like under your t-shirt. I wonder what you sound like when you’re not wearing words. I wonder what we have when we’re not pretending...
We are taught to view pain as an enemy, not a teacher. But pain is the right hand of growth and transformation. Pain is in the history of all human wisdom.
We are wise women, we are giggling girls. We both carry a smile to show when we’re pleased, we both carry a switchblade in our sleeves.
I turned my pain into art and my hard work into a career. Helping myself has helped others. helping others has helped me.
I don’t take good pictures ’cause I have the kind of beauty that moves.
The windows of my soul are made of one-way glass, don’t bother looking into my eyes if there’s something you want to know, just ask.
I walk like I’m on a mission ’cause that’s the way I groove. I got more and more to do and less and less to prove.
I mean, playing music at home and writing and hanging out with my guitar is kind of medicinal for me, but when I bring the songs to people on stage, it’s very joyous.
We’re led by denial like lambs to slaughter, serving empires of style and carbonated sugar water.
Every time I say something they find hard to hear, they chalk it up to my anger, and never to their own fear.
God forbid you be an ugly girl, ’course too pretty is also your doom, ’cause everyone harbors a secret hatred for the prettiest girl in the room.