just minishorts.

Chins up. Heads up high. Continue. Head on. Spine straight. Sit up straight. Smile, laugh. Nothing's wrong with me.

I'm all right. I'm all right.

I have grown up. I'm an adult. I belong to no one, no one but myself. I chart my destiny, I make my own choices. Not my Dad, not my Mum, not my family, not my friends.

I may talk, I may cry, I may think, I may wonder.

But I am responsible for my own decisions, I will take charge of my own life.

No one, no one, no one has the right to come into my life, unless I invite them to.

Don't falter. Don't fade. Don't give a damn. Don't ostracise. Don't bring them down. Don't, don't, don't do unto others, what I don't want to be done unto me.

Sticks and stones may hurt me. But words will not. Words will not.

I refuse to let other people dig their dirty fingers into my life.

I'm my own person. Have always been, will always be.

So you, you, you and you. Go to hell.

This numbs me.

I'm not being political.

It's not easy.

But she has to continue.

Attention-seeking? Maybe, but not entirely true.

She doesn't go around surfing blogs anymore, she doesn't go around dropping messages offhand.

Why not livejournal? Diary-x? Somewhere more private.

Because you don't know, there's many more, much much more behind this.

But she doesn't owe it to anyone, to explicate why she's like this, why she's doing this.

No one at all.

So WE WILL TALK ABOUT OTHER THINGS.