Love is not practical; line up in a queue,
Romantics can’t accept a rejection at face value. The height of insecurity, the dearth of regret,
My spirit is broken, expectations I must reset. Convenient truths, I’m addicted to bullshit,
This book is an account of a mind that doesn’t quit. I’m a designer by trade, an artist with a lit fuse,
Passionate introspection, just my sanity to lose. You are not alone; the pain of living is severe,
Some say it’s weakness; I say it’s clear. The gifts you give so freely, your beautiful attention,
I’m humbled severely, with the rise of ascension. The nucleus of shame, the torture of fact,
I will guide you into my oblivion, you’ll return fully intact.

I Don’t Believe You is a passionate account of a person who cannot ignore the pervasive itch of shame’s triggers, like mental health, the stigma of charity, body issues, drugs, suicide, politics, religion, love, marriage, parenthood, and hope. Reader, I want to eat your heart from a horizon apart, so it sits next to mine in my chest. Let’s kiss minds without the friction of flesh, let the gelatin of our eyes mesh like the teeth of rotating cogs. I would scrape my teeth across pavement if I thought it could infect you with my love. Experience what it means to plunge into yourself like a diving bell and decipher the nonsense of the men in your life through my experience. This book will make you