your lips filled with words you don’t want to say. locked in your soul and kept at bay.

beware the day one is judged by race, for that is the day we are all disgraced.

love is such a fickled sport, thank God it’s the only one of its sort.

What is race? That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet.

p.s. this is a humungooo allusion to shakespeare’s romeo and juliet

normalcy: a highly tolerated, practiced, and dull way of living.

To be an artist is to create; to create is to shed light onto humanity’s darkness.

the sharp thorns of love can be avoided with an open heart 

we all have the power to do something about it, but who will?

“well, it seems we are on the same page in this novel we call life”