Vicky, that is not me but it is what gives the reaction that if people say it I automatically look at them.
30 years is what should be my age, altough I am still dealing with the monster under my bed. From the day I knew about monsters, that is probably my entire life ever since awareness of that could have taken place and as long as my mother with BPD is my mother. But I was always rescued and slept well after my beloved loving father who adopted me was so eager to check under the bed every night, or whatever time in fact. As all stories go, he died due suicide in the year 2009, also here my life ended and my BPD mother is now a hero and a superstar ofcourse, so glad for her and so sorry to make her miserable I gave birth to a child, a wonderfull girl who she took from me by manipulating, but being angry at my mother? No because I am the one who makes her miserable by breathing, just do not know how to stop breathing but i did stop walking on eggshells ;) , I am totally screwed up and I am a poet in the overcoat since age of six. usually dutch but suddenly I found English sounding better on my akward worthless human stains on paper, I am nothing more or less but ME and I do not like to hide that.
Just a story not a poem about two frogs in a bucket of milk.
Two frogs fell into a bucket of milk,
they kept going and going to get out but suddenly one of the frogs asked the other one ' what is the point if we are both anyway going to drown in milk? I give up! '
The other frog replied to his soulmate of the moment ' listen dude, if you give up now you will indeed be lost but if you keep on trying you never know we will both make it out of here '
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*under spellingcheck! *
sadness in silent flowerchalises,
next to the loneliness of the riverbank
...
You dreamed what I wrote.
Or did I write what you dreamed?
It was there and it will always be there anyway.
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