What Laura Said

A knock on the door.
She scrambles off the bed to unlock it.
Her mother walks in, carrying a pile of neatly folded clothes. Fresh off the clothesline. The flowey scent wafts up to greet her nostrils.
"Why do you have that expression on your face? You only had that look when you used to text your ex-boyfriend. Wait, are you Google-ing him?" Incredulation and a slight hint of amusement creeps into the voice of the older woman.
"Eww." Genuine disgust on the part of the daughter. "It's the new guy," she answers, turning her attention back to her cellphone.
Her mother moves to the closet, arranging the clothes in the drawers for a while. She turns to face her daughter.
"You really like him, don't you?"
Silence.

The Act of Crowd-combing

From day one I talked about getting out
But not forgetting about
How my worst fears are letting out
He said, "Why put a new address
On the same old loneliness?
When breathing just passes the time
Until we all just get old and die
Now talking's just a waste of breath
And living's just a waste of death
So why put a new address
On the same old loneliness
And this is you and me
And me and you
Until we've got nothing left!"

Brush Strokes

I made your day and you made mine.

A Sprinkle of Gunpowder

I wish you didn't abuse your power. It's bad enough that you have a huge field of jurisdiction over me, I just don't need you breathing down my neck like a trigger-happy dragon all the freaking time. I'm old enough to know where I stand, what is expected of me, to make my own decisions, make my own mistakes, to live my own dreams. I understand where you're coming from, but you have to let me go.
You make me so frustrated sometimes. So very frustrated. I'm not a child anymore. I know my bounds. I know I'm not perfect, filled with endless short-comings in fact. But trust me. All you have to do is trust me. Your problem is you don't know what you have and therefore you're not thankful. Compared to the other kids outside, you could say I'm heaven-sent. Truly.
Stop making up feeble lies which I can see right through with my naked eyes. Those methods ran out of fashion a long time ago. How does one take control of one's destiny when there are so many external factors at work, just hampering the process every step of the way?
You are my stumbling block. I can be free. I can smell the ocean and all the joy it brings from where I am but I'm locked up in a cage, unable to feast my eyes on my true calling. Yes, you've let me make most of my decisions on my own. Most. How about the rest? A child has to grow up at some point of their lives. I'm twenty, for heaven's sake. When will my time come, pray tell? When you die? That's not sarcasm or vengeange talking, just raw frustration and disappointment.
Sometimes the things you say hurt me more than what my ego allows me to show. A small, simple and insignificant thing can ruin me for weeks. It may mean absolutely nothing to you but to me, it's like a stray bullet that punctures a vital organ and leaves the wound stinging for a very long time. And after that I watch my every move, thinking what you said will come true. And in more often times than not, it does. A curse, which dogs me and never leaves me in peace.
I hurt you because you hurt me. I hurt you because I want you to feel how I've been hurting. I hurt you so I can see you hurting. I hurt you so that you know that I'm hurt by you.
You have your dreams for me, and so do I. In the long run, my dreams matter more because I'm the one who is going to live my life, not you. Let me be. For God's sake, let me be!
You place all these inconceivable rules on me and say this was what it was like growing up. Look at me. Look at me! Do I look like I care? You are not me and I am not you. We're two very different people. Vastly different. I could turn you over in heartbeat, without remorse. Don't test me. I'll be cordial so long as you are.
Don't provoke me. Why can't you understand that I hate being provoked? I act civilized enough throughout the time. What motivates you to provoke me? Is it because you like starting fights? Like being in one? Like seeing me mad? Like being mad? Like taking out your frustrations on me? WHAT IS IT?
When I react, don't play dumb. Defend yourself. There is nothing more pathetic than not following through on something that you started. If you know your arguments are paper-thin, why dig your own grave in the first place? Better to shut up than meddle in things that are not within your paygrade.
Don't shy away from responsibilty when it's your fault. Calling me a liar will only aggravate your situation. You're a letdown in your own right. You're holding me back in more ways than you know. Stop playing God. Sometimes I feel like strangling you until I feel your larynx crush beneath the force of my fingers.
Two decades on this planet and where have I gone? No where. Limited by you. Even if I had my own life, I wouldn't be surprised if you tried to exert your influence over me. Let me go. Let me scrape my knees and stumble into puddles. Let me do what I want.
For me, happiness means pleasing you, waiting for your approval. I'm not free. Not truly free. No one is, but I feel all the more restricted, thanks to you. I don't want to live like that. To please everyone. To be their golden child. To never screw up. To be their beacon of hope. I know what I want. And I'll get what I want someday. You just have to let me take my time and weigh my options. You're supposed to be there to facilitate my journey, not complicate it. When I need you, I'll holler. If I don't, that means I'm fine. How many times to I have to tell you that so that you finally understand? I'm not going to die but you're killing me.
Go away. Just go. Right now I need space. Telling you is wrong, not telling you is wrong. Either way, nothing is right.
I think I may need a punching bag to vent all my frustrations on it. Pulverize it into a pulp and not feel guilty. Gahhhh! I just feel like bellowing at you until you get the message. I'm a disappointment, I get it. But so are you. So are you.

When Muppets Ruled

I remember hearing these songs during childhood. Nostalgia. Those were the days. The essence of innocence still pure and untarnished, when "Shut up!" was the rudest (EVER) thing to say to a person. That purity is lost. Long gone, swept by the winds made by the hands of time. I miss the 90s and I'll be bold enough to say that the children of that decade were the last generation that actually mattered and made sense. Children nowadays.... well, let's not go there.
P.S: Dear future children, please don't put me to shame or else I'll have no option but to put you up for adoption. I'm sure your father would understand.



Oh So Intricate

Pitiful is the person who is afraid of taking risks. Perhaps this person will never be dissappointed or disillusioned; perhaps she won't suffer the way people do when they have a dream to follow. But when that person looks back - and at some point everyone looks back - she will hear her heart saying, 'What have you done with the miracles that God planted in your days? What have you done with the talents God bestowed on you? You buried yourself in a cave because you were fearful of losing those talents. So this is your heritage: the certainty that you wasted your life.'
Pitiful are the people who must realize this. Because when they are finally able to believe in miracles, their life's magic moments will have passed them by.

 Paulo Coelho

When he went blundering back to God,
His songs half written, his work half done,
Who knows what path his bruised feet trod,
What hills of peace or pain he won?

I hope God smiled and took his hand,
And said, "Poor truant, passionate fool!
Life's book is hard to understand:
Why couldst thou not remain at school?"

Charles Hanson Towne