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I tattered their wings and tore off their legs, joint by joint, watched them crawl in circles, like little lost infants, untill they decide to die.

Ellen Hopkins

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Ellen Hopkins
Age: 69
Born: 1955
Born: March 26
Novelist
Writer
Long Beach
California
Ellen Louise Hopkins
Dies
Joint
Lost
Joints
Littles
Infant
Little
Watched
Like
Circles
Tattered
Decide
Tore
Legs
Infants
Wings
Crawl

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Detailed descriptions, abstract ambitions, relevant observations, your's and mine.
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Nonfiction speaks to the head. Fiction speaks to the heart. Poetry speaks to the soul. It's the essence of beauty. The essence of pain. It pleases the eye and the ear.
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But death doesn't scare me. To know exactly when I might expect it, up close and in my face, would actually be a comfort. Because to tell the truth, most of the time dying seems pretty much like my only means of escape.
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Was the fun in the fall?
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With you, I am Eve. And you are my beautiful Adam. Let's run away, find our garden, live there together, happy. Naked.
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Anger is easier than forgiveness.
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Clear. Cold. Empty. Like how I feel right now. Love is strange. One minute you’re jungle fever. The next you’re Artic winter.
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He has built a pedestal for her so tall that she is afraid to be lifted atop it, because to fall would mean certain death. But oh, she would rise far, far beyond fear and be held by arms so strong, and love so pure, that falling would not be an option.
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empty and closed, hovering in some frozen netherworld neither sun nor rain could thaw.
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Have to Find ...life ...is ...a— ...gamble ...after ...all.
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She is angle. I am curve. Together, we are geometric sculpture, and we make perfect sense.
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I am different. And I don't understand exactly how. And I don't understand just why.
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Possibilities ...in the closet ...itching ...to break out ...but afraid of ...the fallout
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Life is full of choices. We don't always make good ones.
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But then, my entire life is bullshit. The best things in it have vanished, ghosts. Ghosts I'll admit I created.
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Happiness is a bull's-eye, awaiting arrows of pain.
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Why doesn't love come with an owner's manual?
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THE BAD THING ABOUT FEAR Is it requires a reaction. Some hide. Some cry. But, like a dog condemned to a walled yard with no hope of escape or affection, some learn to bite.
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He's solid. You're fractured. He's hopeful. You're hopeless. He's always there. You're half there. He's faithful. You're so not. He's giving. You're afraid to give. He's honest. You lie all the time. He's loving. You don't know how to love.
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I was about six years old, still Daddy's little girl, even though Daddy couldn't care less about me. How could I expect any man every would?
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