That’s the problem with life. You never get enough time to stare at your ceiling and try to figure out what’s going on.
The white boots with unicorns printed on them because, even though I’m fifteen, I still think the unicorn would be the world’s greatest animal.
I didn’t want to try to kill myself, didn’t want the blood and the hysterical parents and the guilt, any of it. But sometimes I liked the idea of simply not having to be here anymore, not having to deal with my life. As if death could be just an extended vacation.
I am already socially disabled; I don’t need to be mentally disabled on top of that.
Oh, yeah, any functioning society has got to have its doctors, its teachers, and its nightlife photographers.
I held my arm out in front of me and twisted it back and forth. Palm up. Palm down. Now you look fractured. Now you look whole.
Your drive away everyone by being extraordinary. The world embraces ordinary. The world will never embrace you.
The popular music wasn’t interesting-bad, it was bad-bad. Auto-Tuned vocalists who couldn’t really sing; offensively simplistic instrumentation; grating melodies. Like they thought we were stupid.
What do you think it takes to reinvent yourself as an all-new person, a person who makes sense, who belongs? Do you change your clothes, your hair, your face? Go on, then. Do it. Pierce your ears, trim your bangs, buy a new purse. They will still see past that, see you, the girl who is still too scared, still too smart for her own good, still a beat behind, still, always, wrong. Change all you want; you can’t change that.
Music wasn’t history class; I didn’t need to memorize a thousand dates and names.
Because if there’s one thing we know about lesbians, it’s that none of them wear bras.
It was weird. But being friends with Vicky had made me realize that some people were just like that. Some people were nice to you, simply because they liked you.
I came here because I didn’t want to be alone anymore” I answered him. “That’s a good reason” he murmured.
Some people will tell you that honesty is the best policy, but I disagree. In instances like this, I fully believe that feigned ignorance is the best policy.
I had this feeling suddenly. I get this feeling a lot, but I don’t know if there’s one word for it. It’s not nervous or sad or even lonely. It’s all of that, and then a bit more.
I know the Smiths,” I snapped, because lord knows you can launch any kind of criticism at me, lord knows I’ve heard it all before, but don’t you dare doubt my musical knowledge. There’s not much I can do right, just this one thing, but you cannot take this one thing from me.
I have a theoryd that the first person you fall for creates a model for how you approach relationships going forward. Like, it frames how you’ll look at every person who you date after that.
There were people in this world who didn’t know how to take care of others. There were people who walked away even when they’d made a promise to stand by you. There were people who threw around the word love but only acted on it when it was convenient for them.
Maybe loving somebody means simply they bring out the best in you, and you bring out the best in them – so that together, you are always the best possible versions of yourselves.
You don’t have to win every fight or make everyone love you or be the cleverest person in the room. You don’t even have to raise your hand or answer every question on a test or get to every class on time. You just have to keep living.
And of course he was right, but there was still something in the idea that appealed to me, of cutting apart my body piece by piece, my skin and my brain and my lips and my tongue, giving it all away until there was nothing left in me for anyone to object to. Until I was just a pathetic collection of fingernails and veins, and everyone would feel guilty for their roles in tearing me to scraps.