babymommadrama

hmmmmm, my son's mother. what can i say.

sometimes i can't stand her. once upon a time i couldn't stand her, this isn't the case of late. i am quite happy with her. we are civil to each other. we are getting along. dare i say even work together sometimes.

no jealousy, no animosity, no hate what so ever. i don't know how long it will last. i'm still used to fighting all the time. we even met each other at open school. we were in court as plaintiff and respondent, but we were there together. aside from her getting mad at minor shit, we did not speak ill of each other.

i am writing this entry because i want her to know that i'm ok with us being friends, for as long as that lasts. here's a poem she wrote. i'm posting it as is.

I am a flower that blooms in the spring breeze, so pleased to be at peace, BULL SHIT PLEASE. How can I be at ease knowing I'm living in times like these? So repressed, depressed, real stressed, to go through with this test, same mess none the lest, nature knows best. If you ask me I'm a flower swiveled in the mud, rundown to the ground. Some one has stolen my summer crown. Beat down to a pulp ill be, pretty flower, PLEASE. Every petal represents my struggle in each segment one petal hits the pavement. You think I'm kidding about the pretty flower I be, prematurely ruined ill be, pretty flower, that's me. Pretty flower that starts like a seed and the way I formed my leaves for security, it didn't help much, now look at me pretty flower ruined that's me.(sic)

you are always talking about how i don't mention you. you never gave me a reason to. now you have.