"Power without love is reckless and abusive, and love without power is sentimental and anemic." -- Martin Luther King, Jr.

It shouldn't rain when there should be sunshine and things should be simple.

It shouldn't confuse me how people talk to me and then ignore me and then make me crazy with neuroticness.

They are just dinosaurs who have temporarily lost their consciences.

Literature homework should never involve competing with the author in terms of ease of language to guide a plot which I BARELY understand anyway. Why is everyone else all like, 'It's so deep, oh my goodness, all this climactic stuff happens like every. Single. Second.' when all I see is a novel with pretty words and Biblical references? (But actually, no one ever says the word "goodness". Except me.)

My parents should never force drugs down my throat. My insides are currently drenched in B12. Hooray!

WHY OH WHY?

Happiness should just float into my willing, out stretched fingers. Come here, delicate butterfly.

What if 1 + 1 actually equaled 3?

What if my name was actually spelled Jessie? Would I be completely bewildered and ponder the meaning of my existence? EVEN MORE SO THAN NOW? Goodness (you see what I meant before), that would be an awful lot of hard work. Would I be a different person? Maybe I'd be louder. Maybe I wouldn't even consider questioning my Catholic faith. Maybe I'd drink away my sorrows and earn the label of whore slowly, but surely, and fail ALL my subjects, not just Maths, and devour meat like animals mean nothing and be friends with people that hate me.

What if J. L. Carr never wrote "A Month in the Country"? What would Ms. Johno do then? Oh, her poor, poor soul. I'm sure she'd still find a way to explain Christianity to a class of girls that, for the most part, just don't care.

What if I actually wasn't so messed up and my hair was straight and orderly to match my straight and orderly life?

What if flowers never grew?

What if cows ruled the Earth?

What if I knew how to be a friend?

What if all children had a roof over their heads, a bed to sleep in, food in their bellies and hope for the future? I see them now, a father smiling and gesturing with his hands- a story that dances through the room, creating smiles on the faces of the mother, with her freshly made soup, and the children; it will be their bed time soon. The last happy family on Earth.

What if you never thought of anyone else and my hurt went away?