To those African-Americans suffering in our country, I say, what do you have to lose? Vote for Trump, I'm going to fix it.
You say to yourself, Well, this poem isn't going to be any good, but I'll write it anyway.
To be wild is not to be crazy or psychotic. True wildness is a love of nature, a delight in silence, a voice free to say spontaneous things, and an exuberant curiosity in the face of the unknown.
The inner boy in a messed-up family may keep on being shamed, invaded, disappointed, and paralyzed for years and years. "I am a victim," he says, over and over; and he is. But that very identification with victimhood keeps the soul house open and available for still more invasions. Most American men today do not have enough awakened or living warriors inside to defend their soul houses. And most people, men or women, do not know what genuine outward or inward warriors would look like, or feel like.
. . . where a man's wound is, that is where his genius will be.
We did not come to remain whole. We came to lose our leaves like the trees, Trees that start again.
The door to the soul is unlocked; you do not need to please the doorkeeper, the door in front of you is yours, intended for you, and the doorkeeper obeys when spoken to.
Don't you think that the best things are already in view?
When you consider all the writers who never even had a machine. Who would have given an eyeball for a good typewriter. Any typewriter. All the ones who wrote on a matchbook covers. Paper bags. Toilet paper. Who had their writing destroyed by their jailers. Who persisted beyond all odds.
That we do not comprehend or accept something does not invalidate its truth.
There are accidental parents, but there are no accidental children. There are illegitimate parents, but there are no illegitimate children. You may not have planned your kids, but God did.