She was right. Omission is a lie. It's the most familiar kind of lie I tell. It's so second nature I don't even catch it anymore.

Forgive me Lord, for I haven’t been honest with myself. Or anyone for that matter. If it’s OK with You, I’d like to confess.

Sometimes running away from a venus flytrap in human form gets old. Sometimes letting something you know was an insult slide gnaws at the irritation you've been harboring for months.

I'm strong without you. And it hurts that you're upset about it. You're supposed to be rooting for me. And I guess in a way you are.

At the crux of change, I find myself backing away. My words have always left the residue of a dream edging closer to reality. I'm almost done.

My past showed up in a dream the other night. He didn't look the way I remembered him. I can't really tell you how he looked but my dream self knew it was him.

I fix things. I guess I'm a small scale personal life Scandal cast member. My advice stops car wreaks days before they happen.

You were supposed to follow that plan you bragged about having. You were supposed to have tunnel vision. I guess seeing everyone go on with their path brought out the coward in you.

The day your father told me that you were on your way, I told him that nothing is about him anymore. And maybe that’s a rude thing to say but honestly I will put you above him solely off the fact that you are a child.

Finding a balance between too much and too little has always been a task for me. But how do I successfully locate it when my map is showing me suggested roads that often lead me to make complex loops that take me back to where I was before?

I haven’t poured anything out in a while. I kept telling myself it was because I was so busy.I don’t think that’s true anymore.

I’m second guessing myself for no good reason. I keep telling myself that I’m not working fast enough, hard enough, good enough. Finding fault with every conceivable thing that I do is driving me crazy.

Am I too uptight for my own good? Why does it feel like I'm fast forwarding to the difficult parts of adulthood? Why am I canceling out the fun?

When I import the music you send me into Zora, my computer, she asks me what disc information I want to put in for the songs. I always list your name as the album artist.

My ears are picking up everything going on around me. The opening and closing of stalls and room doors, the restless tossing from the other twin bed, the low hum of the space heater near the window.