I remember as I struggled with these things in my teenage years and in my college years . . . one way of fighting was simply to get out of the dark places—get out of the lonely rooms. . . . Get out of the places where it is just small—me and my mind and my imagination, what I can do with it and get to where I am just surrounded by color and beauty and bigness and loveliness. And I know that when I used to sit in my front yard at 122 Bradley Boulevard with a notepad in my hand and a pen trying to write a poem, at that moment, my heart and my body were light years away from the sexual
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