Buddy Wakefield Quotes
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You're a free-standing landing pad held together by choir claps.
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A trajectory of misery – at this point – seems intentional. We have all the information we need to see clearly. We are no longer unaware toddlers on the landscape of consciousness. It is no longer cute to crap ourselves.
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The best songs are the ones about Georgia, even though I've never been there. It's the only place I still believe in Jesus.
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Stop inviting walls into wide open spaces.
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If we were created in God’s image, then when God was a child he smushed fire ants with his fingertips and avoided tough questions.
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I don't care to be good, Sheriff. I care to be whole.
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I choose to politely ask myself to step aside if I am in my own way. If I do not get out of my way, I choose to call a friend who will have me removed.
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I should have told You before talking in terms of Forever that any given day wears me out and works me sour, that there are nights when the sky is so clear I stand obnoxious underneath it begging for the stars to shoot at me just so I can feel at Home.
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You are the home I point to that lives in my chest.
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Knowing me is easy. You can still twist your hair and feel silly. Look up the word tacky and have a salad. But when we're together you pull bread apart with your fingers into bites sometimes so small I gotta remind you, Peach, it is okay to be hungry.
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...others, with halos shaped like rollercoasters you'd stand in line to ride twice.
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We were never tragedies. We were emergencies. You go ahead, call 9-1-1. Tell them I'm havin' a fantastic time.
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...all these kids you can't seem to make sense of would stop holding you so far off the edge of your seats if you'd start holding yourselves to the promises you make. We know you're not perfect, because we're not. And I know I'm not perfect, but I believe I was meant to be.
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Everybody knows that smiling is for little girls, the gays and certain kinds of fish who are smiling by accident.
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If you've never been rocked back by the presence of purpose this poem is too soon for you. Return to your mediocrity, plug it into an amplifier and rethink yourself.
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I'm ready to kill something. I'll probably only get as far as my brain cells, but I am going to kill them.
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Love makes no mistakes.
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There is a point when tears don't work to wash things away anymore. Grabbing for breath has now broken my fingers.
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Even good hearts know how to turn bad touch and genocide into clichés just to make room for more comfort.
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There was a typewriter buried alive in that horse, the one I road to get out of the flood.
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You can call me an angry ghost when I'm gone, or laugh into my disposition. But my mom will still see me as her wide-eyed wanderer out behind the garage inventing ways to fend off dog attacks that will probably never happen.
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I would fall in love with you if you would beat these people out of me.
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I am standing like shoe polish on an overstocked shelf hoping that one day someone will pick me to make things better.
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What paper planes and empty seats most have in common is that they are best made by children still learning how to ride things out.