..dear reader..

I'm not sure I've ever felt this at home before. If I did I'm sure I wouldn't remember and besides I would know it wasn't pernament. The state of mind, the material conditions the social oppurtunites, all changing all the time. Not so much as up and down as exploding or imploding. The meds are probably helping, working on the delusion that most of it never happened. I had to cling to it very tightly then it was a crutch. Now its not needed, I have a place, a place that's as unconventional, akward, pretty and intimating as me. Recently I've been told 'I love you' 10-20 times a day. He can forgive me for being grumpy sometimes, so can I. Drugs can be good. But I'm no where near trying out the coil for the pain yet. a coil to help discomfort , does it leak morphine? My star crossed mind gives me afterpains at the very thought. My god I over commit myself sometimes, acting like I have to live in a way that pleases the social worker, this ...

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...