This place used to be mine.
This room,
This desk.
Those windows used to mine.
Yes, even that one, the one that can't close.
The broken one.
Those posters are mine.
Those photos.
Mine.
My children, not theirs.
My space has even vanished.
My air.
My movement and poise.
My phone is empty, silent.
My mind though;
My mind is full.
It churns and whirrs and splices and remembers and tumbles and stops and tiptoes...but it's mine.
Not theirs.
Not hers.
I am back and they are desperate to keep me confined.
Desperate to contain me.
Frightened of what I say.
Frightened of what I tell.
Frightened of who I confide in.
Frightened of what I confide.
Upset and filled with tearful anger earlier.
I left the building with tears streaming and so much anger...
But I have written.
I have logged.
I have reflected.
I have talked to Angel.
I have talked to Calmness also and she was lovely.
No one from the top has said I must go.
No one from the top has said I am incompetent.
No one from the top blames me.
No one from the top has been cold and calculating.
And how she must squirm and writhe in her own lies of deceit.
How she must worry and how she must prepare for such a huge threat.
Bitch two scurries around and the Young one knows who to keep sweet when a job is going.
They are within inches of her space,
...a cloying sickly space.
My day has been less poisonous,yet I know more will come.
More will come.
One day at a time.
One day at a time.
How they react to me;
How they behave to me is a reflection of themselves and their own self worth.
It is not a reflection of me.
It is not.
It is not.
It is not.
Hazel eyes stare back.
Mine.
