DRAMA
Raised in a drama-filled home, I inherit the taste for drama...
My drama would present itself as a victim;
All I would need is a participant that would love to travel the same road…
And we would make a right turn on the street called Victim.
On Victim Street, I can talk about the mistreatment from a critical parent and a mean sibling...
While licking each other’s wounds and experiencing eternal weeping...
On Victim Street, I can hold on to resentments that chill my spirit and turn my soul into stone.
On Victim Street, I can talk about the past until my hairs turn gray...
While never moving from those experiences of yesterday...
You see, on Victim Street there is never any hope because…
On Victim Street, the sun doesn't shine and the flowers never grow.
Yvonne W