bandaids once upon a time there was a girl who decided to be like chrity, but she will end up too lazy to do enough damage.
but the will was there.
fuck all the gays!
fuck all the other religions!
screw womens rights!
I love police brutality!
animal testing is wonderful!
kill things!
shoot people!
be afraid of whats different!

the end.

save yourself.
ClairE Once upon a time there was a girl who was born able to sink deeply into pleasure and who grew up skinny and scared and who liked to blow bubbles on the porch and got pushed in the chest by life and who learned to love trees and tie her shoes and love her little brother and to wear a bra and enter womanhood and not to buy into certain beliefs and then learned not to buy into elitism and who learned that life is always a struggle and that she loved sex and that she alone could make people happy and she nourished that and learned to balance fixating on her faults and ignoring them pointedly (which is the same thing) and to love her parents all in a completely different way.

She learned not to hurt, and how to get bloodstains out, and how to give head and how to listen.

She's still learning when to stop talking.
girl thats beautiful, clairE.

i feel like i can relate.
his story
god once there was this rabbit, see. i didn't come here to talk about that, though. i'm supposed to tell you to buy more dog_boots. however, in this time of crisis, we at central services advise against not learning to froog violently. 011225
kitten on drugs born september 20, 1982.
learned to tie my shoes when i was 4. learned to ride a big-girl bike when i was 5.
learned to play the clarinet (and to fake headaches to get out of practicing) when i was 10.
learned to lie well when i was 13.
learned to give good head when i was 15.
learned to date three guys at once when i was 16.
learned to make love like there was no tomorrow when i was 17.
learned how to make the toughest decision a girl can make when i was 18.
learned to steal a grown man's entire world out from under his feet when i was 19....

the only thing i've learned in my 19 years is that no one, especially me, will ever be perfect.
brandi i'm so not good with bios.
once upon a time there was a little girl born a month late and had to be induced to even come out.
i speculate this girl just didn't want to leave some place safe and happy b/c once she did 14 months later her parents would split up and divorce.
the only thing her mom ever did right was put down the booze when she was pregnant with THIS girl anyways b/c she knew what happened the last time.
this little one was given to her grandmother to raise b/c her mother could not take care of her and the dad was a way at work for long periods of time being a military man.
living with her grandmother, she visited her aunt every weekened and went to church allowed to sleep during the sermons and given cinnamon trident gum a lot.
this little girl basically had a new mommy and a step-father who used to pretend to be a werewolf.
very happy times but this little girl would have learned to hate everyone b/c they weren't of her same relgion.
so the daddy came back b/c he missed his little girl and took her to this evil land which is the only place she's ever really known.
here the l.g. didn't learn about any religion and always thought her dad would get mad if she wanted to go hang out with people at their youth functions.
so she stayed away and then others began to dis her b/c she didn't mind wearing black and others made fun of her for feeling different about religion *after* all this one didn't go to church and hung out with weird people but not as weird as the *normal* ones.
so now she hates others b/c she thought she wanted to be invisible and she practically got her wish.

The End (for now)
Aimee it was a hot and stick wednesday. It was the 10th day of August so the heat was not unexpected. 1983 was not a year for the books. Not much had happened. Reagan was in the White House and from what I understand, utterly fucking the nation. But it was young in his term and perhaps he hadn't messed up too much. but I digress. My mother, a 27 year old mother of two was put in labour with her third and last child. Me. I popped out 6 hours after her labour was induced. 5:46pm. For the most part my life was not that exciting. for the next year I did the usual baby stuff... teething, learning to sit up, walk, talk and eventually pee in a toilet. Very exciting shit. During this time however our family lost it's structure. Daddy was a drunk and a narcotic addict, and decided the only way for him to change was for him to leave his wife and small children. They never got back together.

So mom raised us. She did well... but there were a lot of things I've noticed in the past few years. One of my earliest memories was all of us cooking together.. I was about 4 and i don't know why she let me handle a knife. I was cutting a green pepper. I can still remember the way the kitchen smelled. I ended up cutting myself. I put my little finger in my mouth and sucked on it... I jumped down from the table, but I hid the cut from my mother. I was terrified she'd get angry with me. After all, she did tell me to be very careful. My pointer finger still hurts to this day when it's damp out. It was pretty deep, but i just put a bandaid on it. When she asked about it, I just said I cut myself.

It wasn't all bad... she tried, and I know it couldn't have been easy. 3 kids all by yourself... plus two more marriages that just didn't work. The men were assholes. I ended up dating nothing but assholes due to the model males I had. I even had problems with my brothers... they wanted nothing to do with their "little" sister. I was a pest though... I deserved it. But they still don't want anything to do with me.

High School was fun, College sucked ass... and now I'm engaged. that's about it.
daxle Born just two minutes into June 11th 1981 at some Kaiser in San Diego. I found out a few years ago that my parents had been seperated between when they had my brother and when they had me. Born to a controlling and critical mother (who also has many redeeming qualities) and a reckless and tempermental father (also still good overall). Some of my earliest memories were waking up in the middle of the night to screaming and my dad breaking things. My mom says I was always wary of people, and liked to observe them for awhile before I wanted to interact with them. In kindergarten I spent the beginning of the school year just watching other kids play at recess. I remember people always telling me to smile or asking what was wrong. I didn't think anything was wrong. I worked hard in school because I didn't want to be punished like my brother was. I was and am extremely sensitive to all criticism. Some of my favorite childhood memories are playing candy land with my mom, camping with my dad, and staying at my grandma's house. My brother tortured me as a result of his power struggles with my dad. I got to be at the bottom of the food chain for a long time which I'm sure has a lot to do with my agressive nature now. One october day I came home from school and went to ask my dad if he could drive me to a bonfire later that night. I found out what I seemed to know subconsciously already: that he was dying. After talking for hours and watching him not cry one single tear, he convinced me that I should go to the party. I nearly drowned and was narrowly saved by a girl who was a junior lifeguard. I burnt my hand on a pole that someone had decided to turn around in the fire. My friend backed up into me and gave me a fat lip. As the months went on I pushed the fact out of my head and became depressed without even admitting it to myself. June 18, 1995 my father died. For many years I wanted to go with him. Early high school was a blur of drugs. Then I decided I needed to get my shit together and go to college, and I decided that just in time. Danny came about in that period too. I became convinced that he was the answer to everything... perfect... and he could make me happy. In the beginning of college I gained no real friends because all of my time was consumed with him or my school work. Three years later we broke up. I thought I couldn't live anymore but that feeling was familiar. So, with the addition of quite a few more details, a lot of struggle, strength, and still no real purpose, here I am. 020914
Lilac March 14, 1985 I was born in a small, boring town in southern Indiana.

by age 3, I was living with my single mother and little sister.

by age 5, I had forgotten any moment I had living with my mother and father, grew up faster than anyone else my age.

by age 6, I was raising my baby brother while my mother was always working to give us what we needed not realizing what we needed was her to be home.

by age 11, I was getting lunch dentention, hanging out with the wrong people and growing up faster than I wanted to.

by junior high even my best friends forgot I existed, made a new friend that is still by my side, had my first real boyfriend.

high school started and I gained a whole group of band geek friends, realized I was pretty.

10th grade, stayed with an obsessive boyfriend because I didn't want to be alone, made a new friend in the back of Mrs. Harmons classroom that helped me realize that Im not the only one that had to grow up fast and just because I did, it wasn't a bad thing.

11th grade, I went through hell and back fighting for the connection I made with that someone in the back of Mrs. Harmon's classroom wondering if winning the fight would be worth the scar it would leave, found creating physical scars as a good outlet.

12th grade, almost had to grow up even faster than I already had, got slapped in the face by reality, felt pathetic when it took the inevitable finally happening before I realized I should use more sense, learned that miscarrige can be a good thing, and realized that anything worth fighting for will be greater than the scar it left getting there.

Scars fade
time heals all wounds.
sirflaccid It all began on the 16th day of October of 1982. Labor was induced because I was two weeks over-due.

(Mom jokes about how I never wanted to come out, i find that ironic)

When I was to be brought into this world the doctors said either my mother or I would die or both.

My first memory is around the age of 3 or 4. Mother was in the kitchen cooking dinner, dad came home and an arguement erupted. I remember being very nervous. The parents took the arguement upstairs and I still listened. The only thing I remember from there was my mother falling down the stairs.

After that day we lived with my grandparents. Mom stayed away either working or "getting her life back." When she did come home she liked to onload he daily woes to me. I listened.

As far as I can remember I was always mom's little man. She needed me I had to be. To this day, I am still mom'm little man. I want to be someone else's man. Maybe be my own first.

My brother was shy and I didn't understand that. I took out my frustrations on him. Call it an easy target. I missed out on sharig a childhood with a wonderful human being.

Junior High was rough. I hated everyone especially myself. I was tired of being eveeryone's entertainment. Got into a lot of trouble and made a few stupid choices.

High school rolls around, I need a change. I miss my old friends, and I want to get away from my current ones.
Freshman year was a waste. By my sophomore year I find my first real girlfriend. By the second half of Junior year we are apart. I become bitter, again. All the while I meet an interesting girl, I love talking with her.

I make some stupid moves and end up in situations I should have never been. With people that didn't matter, again. While this is going on I fall for the girl in Mrs. Harmon's room. NO NO NO, I don't want to be there, I don't want this because it is no good. But it is the best. Then I leave for college.

Leaving her behind was the hardest thing I will ever do. So I renig on my so called dreams and come home. I practially still lived here anyway I was home every chance I got.

Now I am happy. Maybe not exactly how I had planned, but none the less happy. I know it will all be ok.
piercedjenny Sorry if it is long winded... I need to get it off my chest.

Born 1975 to a family that had just come together. My mom and dad, and my older brother and sister from mom's previous marriage. ADORED by my dad, loved by mom, doted on by big brother and HATED by big sister

MY childhood was uneventful, everything was roses until sophmore year, when the guy i was MADLY in love with slept with my younger sister b/c I wouldn't "put out". I hated him, but hated her more. Not only for sleeping with him, but for whoring herself out.

I made a bad choice, and dated a guy who ended up being a controlling drug pusher, who I broke up with a few weeks later because he wanted me to sleep with him and be his little whore. Worst mistake of my life. He went out on a date with my little sister, who I then had to protect. The only way to keep him away was to go back to him.

I suffered through split lips and broken ribs, used hockey/kickboxing and any other sport as a reason for the excessive bruises. I lost my virginity to him not by choice, but because the choices I had were so few. He raped me on a regular basis, but because my choices were to sleep with him, or let him beat the shit out of me. I don't call that consenual. He used to get me stoned and high and give me crazy drugs, and I know now when I passed out, he would let his friends fuck me rampant. His family were police, my family didn't believe me.

When enough was enough, on one fateful day, he left me for dead. My uncle helped me to press charges and he went to jail.

I fell in love with an amazing man, but when he loved me back I ran. I died stoned on E, but was revived and awoke 8 days later. It took me 7 years to be able to say I'm now sober 4 months. I don't weigh less than 100 lbs for the 1st time since 21.

I am alive, I still live in fear. My rapist is back from years in jail, and knows how to find me. He still stalks me, and his family still somehow covers it up. Worst of all, my "best friend" gave the information.

I miss Jaysen. He was my best friend. Like me, he's made some mistakes. I just thought we'd have our whole lives to make mistakes together.
Death of a Rose piercedjenny......I am weeping for you. 031011
Perplexlypuzzled *My appologies in advance for the length*

There are choices I know I have made that I simply cannot take back. There are things I have said that I would like to take back. Time is not kind, nor are once-upon-a-time friends who would stab you in the back for a bit of weed. My story is not short, but bitter sweet. It's made me who I am today.

I grew up in a loving home with many friends. My childhood was wonderful and I was as happy as any girl could be. Then..
When I was 13, I lost my virginity one night when I was drunk at a party with older guys. When I was 15, I lost one of my best friends (and ex-boyfriend). He'd killed himself in the night by means of a rope and a rafter in a barn. A new person came to town. He comforted me and helped me. I loved him and that scared me, so I chased him away. More than a year later, he was engaged to someone else. He seemed happy, but one day confided to me that he was not. I had no help to offer him, simply because I was blinded by the fact that I still loved him. He killed himself with barb wire on a tree more than 3 weeks later.
Again, I met someone that helped me through it. He was kind to me, but used me to cheat on his fiance. To drown the memories, I went to a party one night to forget. In short, my supposed 'friends' lied to me. They told me they'd take care of me. They constantly taunted me to drink, and so drink I did. They gave me drugs, which I was intoxicated enough to believe were normal cigarettes. They slipped me pills, which I took to be candy (Halloween party). They allowed a boy to take me away, far into a field, where he raped me. For 2 hours I was missing and still no one noticed. I came back and my friends dumped me into a tub of water. Eventually I crawled out and spent the rest of the night, naked and cold, on a bare wooden floor. I moved. The best choice of my life, since my 13th birthday, I must say, was to quit school. I'll be getting my GED and going to college eventually. I no longer have to see my friends each day and I am happier now that I know where my life is heading.
I believe that when all hope seems lost, the best thing to do is simply pick up and move on as best as possible.

And yet I find it necessary to share my experiences with the world. Why? Simply because I believe that one day, should anyone look back upon words I have written and left behind in random places, perhaps they will learn from my mistakes, and that, I believe, is something worth writing for.

My mother said that I was crazy once upon a time. Now she only says that I am brave.
endless desire these last two i read last night
they made me very sad
and for some reason, i couldn't quit thinking about them.
i don't know what to say.
my life seems so much more simple when i read these.
oldephebe I ah penned this meatloaf/billy joel type song saga..several years back about a young woman i'd encountered just once on my lurching odyssey to the land of pain..oops i meant poetry..i've got the music and lyrics done..i just need to get into the studio..the chorus goes..she said.."why listen to my story..i was born old and"

you know what.. it probably sounds better if you could hear it being performed..i ah get all..melancholy and emotive..but i just clicked on this page and these sagas pulled at me..but nothing i could write here would really do these stories justice..i'd have to sit down at the old keyboard..cue the drum machine and let each sorrow be threaded through my soul, birthing.and breaking open in my one day i'll really set up a site where anyone can just click on and download..for free a few samples..but these like endless said..kinda hard to get out of your mind..

Perplexlypuzzled Thank you both for your consideration. It is good to know that some people in the world still have thoughts and ideas to portray in a creative way.

Endless Desire,
I believe that each life is indeed important and plays a significant part in all things, whether they are simple or complicated. And in all honesty, I think that some of the most fascinating people are the ones that lead the simple life. The rest of the world is too melodramatic at times. :-)

I just wanted to let you know that I would sincerely like to listen to your song someday, should you ever be able to get it on a website. I think it would be interesting, and it must be a wonderful way to communicate a story. Unfortunately, I have no musical
talent whatsoever, so, as you can probably tell, I normally stick to writing notes and thoughts down on every scratch piece of paper and website I can find.

Please feel free to E-mail me should you want to.
oldephebe you know what? I think everyone has their own music..sure that's an abhorrent aphorism..but you know some folks judge themselves by an aesthetic standard that not every one can inhabit or approach..and yet what makes my music or magic forests music or unhinged music any better than the splendor of any individual soul? back in college and even up to a few years ago i used to sit my firednds down at the key board and ask them to stop judging themselves, and listening or being self-conscious and just let the music burst free..after a few sessions they were making their own they thought they weren't capable yeah right back at you gurl..and yeah i'll let you guys know when i get that site Daf says..i gotta get over the whole privacy thing..when i sing i am completely naked..i hold nothing back..and i kind of stopped singing publicly because of the clinging yearning women and men that would set upon me when i was done..just small cofee house things..or church..but..i'm kinda weird that way..i ah spend and spill myself in the circle of light and then i just want to go hide when it's
and please keep sharing, really..
Perplexlypuzzled If you love to sing so much, and you dislike what happens when you stop, don't stop.

Simply from reading a couple of entries you've written, I think that you must be an amazing person. You communicate your thoughts and feelings well, and I think that your music might move mountians. You say you dislike special attention, so you try not to attempt things to earn you that attention. I say that if you dislike the attention, do not stop doing what you love.. but rather perform for people who might compliment you, but know that they are capable of similar feats, and therefore, they'll want to perform for you as well. You must listen to hear and watch to learn.
One girl in my art class didn't know what to do. She needed a shoe for her project and couldn't find one old and funny looking enough anywhere. I looked at her and told her to make one.

Some of the best answers are the ones in front of your face. Sometimes it takes a fly to tell the spider when she is hungry.

Stories do not tell all.. they simply communicate what might, or might not have happened
once upon a time.
oldephebe food for fodder..twin trajedies of treasure and trauma mark me...way too long to get into now..but thanx for the advice and generous words..being an artist yourself you probably can identify with the idea of tortured ambivalence about doing something that seems to scar at its very utterance..and yet bequeath an irrefutable beauty in its birthing
Perplexlypuzzled food for thought.. =) gives me something to think about. There is a book that I'd suggest to anyone.. its called the Alchemist. It's really an amazing tale. Look it up if you get a chance. It helped me to see things in a new light. 031016
Lemon_Soda I must read this blather.


Very soon.
oldephebe yeah food for thought..was going to write that..but you see i'm compulsively alliterative..sometimes i'll just suture together eccentric phraseology simply because of the sound it makes..and not so much the meaning as magicforest once presciently..noted..

the alchemist eh?..i'll add that to the really long list of books i gotta get to one day..words that define the inner life of the inveterate dreamer and or day..a nice delusional ameliorative to blunt the serrated edges of a life deflated of its once bountiful.. bountiful?..who says bountiful these days?.. ahem ..a life once brimming with promise.. *shudders*

i've been listening to the bruising fugues of tori amos again ..and now i'm desecrating this temple of searing sacred scriptures of the soul with my wilting bowl of dandelion soup for the mercurially melancholy..

Lemon_Soda I like reading your stuff, oldephebe. 031016
Perplexlypuzzled Lovely :-) 031016
oldephebe right back at ya Lemon Soda..that's MY story and I'm stickin' with it...seriously
micky jo father was a product of an affair between two married people
not married to each other
a criminal
a good one
who turned down being made
if you know what I mean
mother an angel
who had one baby before marriage
the other conceived the next day
nine years later
now a third baby
just off welfare
two bedroom house
in little Detroit

I am the third child
and the last
grew up in a farmhouse
out in a field

life divided in two parts
before 11 and after 14
after my brother died
but before I accepted it
with the years in between
when I was sleeping
to numb to be alive

Everything has progressed since then
Came Out
New Friends
Smoked Weed
Fell in love-
over and over and over again
Learned to Dance
Moved Out
Nearly Died

it's the details left out
make it interesting
like the crazy grandmother
the friends who hurt
the boys and women who broke my heart
and the man who taught me to write
but I can't imagine that you care

I'd be glad to share
if anyone ever asked

but that's just me
ItGirl There was a happy laughing tomboy... shaking her fists at the world swinging her hair through the wind just to feel it. And she loved... loved the wind and the rain and the summer sun, her friends and family and Life.

There was a tough scarred kid. Standing unflincing with tears in her eyes. Fists raised in defense of the ones she loved... of the life she loves, dashing through the wind and the rain and the summer sun running away to scream at the sky, where she can be weak alone.

There was a shy teenager, strong and defiant, she loved... pasionately. She raised her voice, her heart, her hopes and her eyes... staring in the face a world that would never be hers... and she made friends and she laughed and she learned to be strong in new ways.

There was a girl who loved a boy, foolishly, but truly. And she learned to touch again... not with clenched fists, but with open palms and open lips. And she opened her body to him and later others that she loved... as well and differently. And she learned that people are good somewhere inside.

There was a girl who made others happy, because that's who she was, she laughed and talked and raised her fists, she wrote and and she loved and she grew into herself. And she learned that you can't keep everyone happy, but you should try to make yourself happy.

There is a girl...
someone who can relate get it off your chest mickey jo
no judegement here
piercedjenny I was 16 and met a boy at a party. I thought he was "the coolest ever". It took me two weeks to realize he was nothing but a crazy fucker.

It took me 12 years to get him out of my life completely.

I've lost friends, given up on love, and forgot how to look forward. Only now, knowing he's in jail, and I have the words to keep him there, do I look to the coming days with hope.

The only thing is... I think I may have forgotten how.
oldephebe god i think that almost broke my heart..

the road back is rough but..your ready..'re're becoming..i really don't have a road map
back or to the land of lillies and white picket fences and promises that are never broken and only beautiful words that are spoken..but there are some guideposts that budhist wisdom offers...ah and i'm sure there are some strong spiritual femimist sisters who'd be willing to listen to you with an unjudgemental ear and offer their words should you require or ask it of them...

You're awake after being asleep for so long, soon you'll begin to feel your own POWER, listen to your uterus, to your your your open to it all and the world..the living stream will tell you what you need to hear...

oE feminism 040706
Perplexlypuzzled It's been a while since I've been here. But I'm back to make an update.

Since my blather here, I've almost completed my first year in junior college and I'll be transfering to a rather large campus soon. I am engaged to a man that treats me like a queen. I love it. My father passed on; September 2, 2004 at 4:32pm with my hand in his. Cancer. I've got my goals and I am moving on. Slowly, but surely. I like my job and I work with many of my old friends and I've made many new. I'm adjusting rather solidly with this new world that I've recently reopened my eyes to. Luck has nothing to do with it. Reality just slapped me in the forehead. I'm back. What a rush...
left behind My mom died when I was seven years old. I think about her every day, and sometimes I talk to her out loud when I'm feeling lonely, but I've never told anyone that because I'm afraid they'll think I'm crazy. I haven't been to her resting place in the ten years since she died. I've forgotten her voice. Sometimes I wonder what she'd say to me if she could. I miss her. 060115
oldephebe Perplexly puzzled - God, I'm so sorry to hear about your father. it's true, love does make us stronger, strong enough to hold the hand of a loved one as they face death, i admire the strength of women in particular, i've watched my mom, sisters, aunts and female cousins and friends face death with loved ones with a mingling of pain, nurture, power and compassion - sometimes i wish i could summon that kind of character, that kind of strength
- but i get too emotional and just fall i don't deal with it sometimes. god bless you.

left behind - yeah it's normal though to talk out loud to a loved one who has passed on. i had an older brother who died when i was eleven and i talked to him for years out loud when i needed to.

it was the same way with my dad, and other loved ones i'd lost

be well

i haven't visited thier gravestone either.

it hurts too much
dipperwell In the tenth grade we had to do a project. Big bottle, fish, nails, plants, make a water ecosystem. You know. I didn't want to do it. I was only fifteen, that felt much too young to be in charge of small lives. I had nightmares every time I fell asleep; that the fish would die. I developed a nervous twitch, lost my appetite, spoke less, felt lethargic. When they died after a month or two, it hurt me very badly. I was used to curling up on my floor and watching them for hours. The littlest one had learned to respond to my finger on the glass; following me.

I have never had a human die, although I have had a few disappear forever. I am not sure that I would handle it well.

smiles sadly at oldephebe
a new dreamer (you already know
because you already know me)

suffice to say
'he was a boy
she was a girl
could it be any more obvious?'
too bad it's unrequited.
my story is my main concern in life. that makes ME feel conceited. because *I* am the most important person in my life.
ME? Conceited?
but he is a main, main character in my story. my male lead.
reams of paper full of his dialogue and actions... things that never go according to script, but i guess that's a good thing.

just another dissatisfied writer.
the end 01,23 i was born. a daughter, my moms first and only. a day late. i grew up in a small town with two moms who loved me, and a town that didn't. At age 2 they brought home my baby 1/2 brother and i threw books at his head, and they put a tarp over my play pen. At age 4 i cut my friends hair, and we moved to a city at age 6, where i still live, and its like a small town. A little community on the outskirts of the city. I had friends in kindergarten a couple boys, and they later decided i had cooties. I got a bird in grade 3 when my moms felt sorry for me. They loved me alot. And in grade 6 a new kid came here, and him and i became close. We stayed inside at recess, hiding from teachers on the stage. we talked, and i told him so much, about my moms gf's drinking, her losing her job, being molested by an aunt when i was 5, stuff like that. And near the end of the year he just dissapeared. i have no idea what happened, if hes even okay. we'd never exchanged phone numbers, or been to eachothers houses. And in grade 7 i made my best friend, and she talks so much and she is wonderful. And i got molested by my aunt again, but i ran away because i was older. And now we go to seperate high schools, i got a girlfriend and she was wonderful, amazing. And we broke up when she went to the psych ward, and i made so many friends. I was amazed. And yesterday my bird died. And it was okay, i cried alot. He could say "i love you" even if it wasnt very clear. We burried him in frozen grounds, and my mom held me close and her gf held me close, and i didnt sleep in my room because without him it was deadly quiet, even if music played. My scars are fading, and i feel alright. I feel like myself, like i can do what i want, just not when i want. And all for no good reason. 060125
piercedjenny I figured I would come and update. Oldephebe, you were right, I am becoming. Each day I wake up with a sense that my past is slowly becoming a distant dream. I face the sunlight on my face and don't cringe back like I don't belong. I stretch and wake up leisurely, with anticipation of the day to come.

I love an awesome man, and he loves me back. He knows my baggage, and we carry it together. My load is light, my heart soars.

I have plans for the future, and they don't scare me. I can share all of me without looking away ashamed. I feel like I am finally becoming the person I always wanted to be.

It's taken a long time, and I can't change the past... but it makes me who I am today.

Strong, independent, lovable... Me.
what's it to you?
who go