The children are running around our feet again. Laughing like they always do. You know as much as me. This makes things simple in a way that I like. Its like you have the magic touch and they flock to you because they can feel that its right. They sense they things I've known along, even though they were covered in cobwebs and looked more like battle scars. I could see what was underneath from the start. The pain is growing deeper the more you have. I want more but I'm afraid to ask in case I get thrown away like some one’s old shoe. Or find myself in the deep end, struggling to see above the surface. I touch that familiar place and wish it was me rather than you. Patience has never been some thing I have ever particularly liked to be. For me this is different. I am different and sometimes I shock myself at who I have become. You might even walk past me and miss it all. But then you always wanted me to be a certain way and now I’ve broken through and sad it may be. I can't be the way you need me to be to fit into your perfect world. The little box you made for me just doesn't quite fit. I’m far to bruised and battered for perfection. My face does not reflect me well. And my arms and legs are falling out of the sides. And I can hear the children again and I smile and know I’m exactly where I need to be.
Write something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview.