I wrote a short story and it was published, AMAZING! What if nobody likes it? What if people think I am a freak because of what I wrote? Who cares what people think of me? I don’t. I do. What day is today? Maybe then I can figure out who I am. I know who I am. I am kind, generous, FABULOUS, friendly, outgoing, karma driven to love and do good, creative and damn good looking. From what I hear, my tits are great for being almost 41 too. I am depressed, desperate, the biggest bitch you ever met. I sulk and hide, I look in the mirror and see complete ugliness, I do what I want and answer to nobody, not even your god. My tits could be way better for $4000.
I love my children more than life itself and would gladly lay myself down on the railroad tracks to save them. I get frustrated. I am proud. My friends are generally of the highest quality. I find myself slumming it. I love you and I can’t stand you in the same visit. I am not better than any other human being however, you are beneath me. Should I do it again? Any of it. Should I do any of it again? I would you know. I would tweak things a little. Maybe I would go out and fuck someone else so that when you treat me like shit, you will have a reason. When you let Ankles treat me like shit, she’s just protecting your heart and interests. Instead of being sad and passive, I would show Ankles what is supposed to happen after a wife finds pics like that on her husbands phone. I am weak but strong. I am happy now with my life. Happier than I have been in years and you can’t continue to take from me. Why? He isn’t going to let you. I’d like to introduce you to…
I love Eyeore but he’s driving me nuts. Always under foot, tripping me. He’s so sweet the way he always wants to be near me.
Mostly, I am closed of to the world. Nobody knows who exactly I am inside, what I am thinking or feeling from day to day. I am a puzzle. Sometimes though, I just bare it all. Watch me cry then scream. I DO know who I am, the question is, do YOU know who YOU are?