The divorce proceedings are finally over.
The spoils of marriage equally divided.
Now it’s just me they’re fighting over
Dad wants me with him, telling me why I shouldn’t stay with ‘that hateful bitch’.
Mum says I’d be better of with her and there’s no way she’s going to let ‘that deceitful bastard’ have me.
The court tells me I’m old enough to make up my own mind.
They’re wearing me out. I’ve had enough. I feel they’ve left me no choice.
I’m leaving a note, asking for my ashes put in two small urns.
One for each of them.