Just a little heads up: this is not my own story. I wrote this as a passenger story of what I believe a friend thinks of some one else. (: it's about as post modern as I could get. Enjoy.
The color of my hair is free to change.
I can wear the clothes I want when I want, if I even want to wear them at all.
Years of hatred tore down my true self.
I tried to like you because it was "good for me", but one can not like what physically harms them.
You waisted year of my life away.
Precious years that I could have ventured with, years to find out who I truly am.
Black mail, sharp looks, put downs, physical abuse, and neglect most of all from the person whom you called your husband.
The man that I needed most.
Just last year I wanted to change my last name.
I thought it was going to mean a lot to me.
Now there's no way I'd like to be connected to you.
I'll keep my own last name just to spite you.
I have my own mother, but good try.
I have my own father, though maybe holding by threads.
Two parents is enough even though now it's like I have 6.
I am me now.
My own religion, I may not even have one.
My own style, please try and put me down, I'd love to see you try.
My own life and for some reason you aren't in it, but that's none of my business.