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I understand needing to be a responsible adult . . . but seriously. Every day? Like every single day? That seems a bit excessive.
She needs air to fill her lungs and books to fill her soul.
Dust settles. Queens don’t. Keep fighting because there is no other choice.
If you speak to me before I’ve had coffee, and I’m mean, that’s your fault. Not mine.
Start over. Start late. Start scared. Just start. The first step is always the hardest.
Do you want to know why storms have been named after women for over seventy years? Threaten my children and find out.
Once upon a time . . . She made it the fuck through . . . The end.
Speak your truth and own it. Even if your voice shakes.
She didn’t survive the storm. She became it.
