..dear reader..

and I am proud. What can I say the lord giveth, he taketh. I would rather he had just left me to it. How am I supposed to feel, something other than an antique night gown and naked fingers. There's been tears but worse than that is illness. Sickened by the sex and violence in Toy Story 3. Thank fuck its snowing. It's not a time where you can get by on your own, no one understands that better than me. But is the gloating necessary, is it a good idea? I am warm though and this junior is sleeping in seperate but nearby room, Any footsteps in the night are his or in another flat.I have his birth certificate and everything. What a luxury that is, I feel like a proper lady when I hold it. Finally I have all the main paperwork for a ticket to toyland. Drama therapy darling...

bloody police.. I never complained about my dad, my sister, or my girlfriend I never wept about baby killing djs in interview rooms or raping judges on tape. I didn't help with ops against drug, people or arms traffiking I didn't have relationships with officers or called them dad I never drew maps of networks on whiteboards never took little children in their rapist's clothes to authorities and held their hands as they were examined. I didn't turn up in stations, drugged, bleeding, weeping or told them where the bodies were buried. I never complained. I was never arrested or resisted I was never cautioned or armed I never confessed or begged to be kept in And they never gave me a duvet and brought in chinese.

three poems published, ta da one about goldie locks, one about authority figures and one about carrying drugs over mountains and being fucked on a big wooden cross. Whats more I'm not homeless, not homeless Its making me me nausous, I behind in the studies but loving it, playing to my strengths not taking it too seriously that a bad grade makes me a worthless human being. Education will also be about other peoples ideas, there is nothing wrong with rejecting that sometimes. My hall is yellow with a purple carpet I have a poster of a new york taxi and green wall hanging thing, a mirror, a lampshade and suddenly I'm in heavan. Ditch the battle for compensation, ignore the travesties of power and injustice I have a veranda and a wee broon sofa for one that cost £35. My god the social worker is the embodiement of some anciet soul devouring demon. Seriously.. all though probably not in the literal baby eating sense. I hope. I do my best but it isn't long befo...