So, at 5.30am, I stopped my car outside of the corner shop. From my back seat, I could have sworn I heard laughter. The laughter sounded young; adolescent. I decided I must have heard something/someone from outside the vehicle, and as I let my passenger in, my stomach dropped, as I was overcome with a feeling of nausea and dread. “Hello Shana”, she said.
To summarise, the urge to shake my daughter to death and put her in the oven isn’t one that I would like to wear on my sleeve. I constantly have the daydream where I forget her in the car. I keep seeing myself drop her from the bed.
I was told it was despicable and that I was using something as sensitive as pregnancy and the birth of my daughter to make money. 5000 shares later, I feel the need to respond…
My sons father is a loser.
My heart stopped. I was frozen. I wanted to catch him in the act, probably on the phone with someone who was gorgeous and thin. I haven’t even done my eyebrows this month.
Coloured people. Please calm down. To answer your questions: No, I don’t want you to kick me in my p. No I am not Jus. Yes. My mommy does know that I am here.
I am incapable of keeping things in. I dread locks.