I wrote poetry from the time I could write. That was the only way I could begin to express who I was but the poems didn't make sense to my teachers. They didn't rhyme. They were about the wind sounds,… — Francesca Lia Block Copy Share Image
Ugster vinyl pumps, Partridge Family records, plastic daisy jewelry, old postcards. . . . It's a magpie Christmas market. — Francesca Lia Block Copy Share Image
Sometimes I wanted to peel away all of my skin and find a different me underneath. — Francesca Lia Block Copy Share Image
The circus tent was flowing pale in the rain like a fleshy flower lit from within. It seemed to bloom in the downpour. Drops… — Francesca Lia Block Copy Share Image
I think depression creates in me an urgent need to write, but I also believe that daily stress, and even the positive stress of… — Francesca Lia Block Copy Share Image
“It’s hard to remember what you fall in love with. Usually it is an expression in the eyes, an exchange, or a gesture or… — Francesca Lia Block Copy Share Image
“Weetzie and My Secret Agent Lover Man and Dirk and Duck and Cherokee and Witch Baby and Slinkster Dog and Go-Go Girl and the… — Francesca Lia Block Copy Share Image
“When you look at pain as material it makes all the difference in the world. I thought, the pain that is too big to… — Francesca Lia Block Copy Share Image
If Death is your father, you don't ever have to worry about what part of his body the disease will strike next. If Death… — Francesca Lia Block Copy Share Image
“My mind is like the valley—this vast barren waste. Car lots. Malls. Tract homes. I know there are other worlds beyond it—of canyons full… — Francesca Lia Block Copy Share Image
“And then I cried a flood of tears as if I really were a mermaid who had absorbed too much sea into herself. The… — Francesca Lia Block Copy Share Image
“Sylvie wishes the anti-depressants had been around when she was in her early twenties, not only to rescue her from the dark tunnels that… — Francesca Lia Block Copy Share Image
