As a child, I had to act in
survival mode, and I recognize that I often still operate out of this place of
fear. It’s a place of mistrust because it is the belief that the Universe/God
won’t provide and She always does.
I felt abandoned. Alone. And I
was alone.
Am I asking you to feel sorry for
me? Hell no.
Because my dis-ease is what makes
me glow.
This madness, these demons, they
make me restless until my hands shake and I know I have to wring the words from them.
It’s time. The craze will make
you insane or make you raw and genuine.
Am I looking for a shoulder to
cry on?
No. I have worked hard to wear my
big girl pants.
So, is it wanting you to feel
sorry for me I tell you my own story? No.
But. There is a single reason
why I write.
Because I am a survivor. I’m an
overcomer.
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