|
|
Saturday, Apr. 19, 2003 - 1:20 a.m. BROKEN I feel like a wilted flower. My life feels as though it is sinking. My lonliness is growing to despair. I am tired of hearing that it is my fault. I am tired of being criticized for being whatever I feel like being. I am tired of being trapped beneath this dung-heap of a job, the imprisonment it creates, barring me from being whatever I want to be. It is time for a change, but I cannot change it fast enough. The bars of my prison cell are too thick to cut. I can only grind to the walls with my fingernails, but even they are gnarled to oblivion. I want to just give them the finger and walk away. I want control over my life. I do not want them controlling it. As soon as I see the crack in the door, I will be running for my freedom. And when I sit on my perch, their criticism will be silenced. I am broken, but I will not let them destroy me. |