I was avoiding reading this book because I knew it'd rip me open. I did and it did. It was heartbreaking and beautiful. It reminded me most of Saeed Jones's How We Fight For Our Lives and Danielle Henderson's The Ugly Cry. I am struck on this day how little we care about most children in this country -- shit this world -- and how often it is by sheer luck that they grow up and have a language to tell their story, a lens to look at it through rather than simply living in it like a too tight coat they can't remove. The world doesn't deserve their stories. The world too-often use them to prove itself right again. "See? *He* made it." We should probably just whisper these to each other. Move ourselves closer to be in earshot. The world can keep its paper and ink