You Just Had To

I wanted to stay here
My friends were warm and kind.

You just had take me away, didn’t you?

I wanted to stay at home
And watch the rain slip down the window panes
I wanted to witness the cleansing of the world

You just had to drag me out to school, didn’t you?
All you wanted was grades.

I wanted to be five years old again
To be carefree again
To be unfettered by knowledge
Just like a child running barefoot in the grass
I wanted to be that.

You just had to impose yourself on me, didn’t you?
You didn’t like the idea of an individual,
All you wanted was for me to be a mini-you.

I wanted to be myself
To be different from you
Not another you
But a me
I wanted to be free from you

You just couldn’t let go, couldn’t you.
You thought that I should always stay home.
You didn’t like the idea of me being free.
All you wanted was for me to obey.

And it was cold and rainy and dark all around.

But you just had to bring the extra coat
Even when it was pouring outside
Even when you were sick yourself
You just had to put your arm around me
And hand me a tissue and say, “Here, blow.”
Like I was a child again.

You just had to, didn’t you.

***

NB: This poem is not about anyone in particular, rather it is aimed at portraying the understanding that a child comes to about his/her parent in life. In a sense it is a little about me discovering another side of my mother that I never knew existed.

This poem was written as part of an exercise that my literature teacher conducted in class to demonstrate the concept of writer's style, or technique, as it were. We were given a short while to write it, and for a moment I considered copying something from here to submit, so I could slack off for ten minutes or so. In the end, I decided to write something proper and here it is. Enjoy! (Incidentally this was chosen to be published in the school's literary compilation. *grinz*)

Get up, and Go.

They just went. Left. With instructions, to take care of this and that matter. And you are left with...what?

No choice.

***

So they have decided to come back. Oh to be at that leisure, unfettered by anyone's commands. To be allowed the right to just take off and go, without bringing baggage or leaving a note.

Nobody likes to be left behind like the child who knows but has no voice to speak. To be patted on the head and given a treat to disguise undercurrents that are only too obvious.

Do they not know the adverse effects this has on even the strongest of men? Abandonment and a feeling of being, somehow, not good enough. Not deserving of whatever it was that someone else got, and knowing no reason why, except that one is, to put it bluntly, not good enough. Again and again.

Change is called for.

But what? And how? What other factors might be drawn into this web of equations that always devise ways to trap and delude and complicate. The human mind is a black hole unto itself, feeding upon every thought until there is nothing left but shadow.

Unless.

There is yet hope from the sources, the roots of our being.

Something stirs inside, an as yet flightless being that strives to stretch its unborn wings.

To get up.

And go.

To leave everything behind like an old skin that serves only as a bitter memory of what once was, like the scab that grows back and refuses to heal. There was only bitterness there.,br>
Was.

And now?

A yawning white chasm opens up like a book. The pen is in your hand. Now is your chance to change. The beginning of a new chapter, a new journey.

Change.

Just get up.

And go.

Observations of Environment I

The last drops of tea slowly turn cold in the artificially cooled air of my room. I can anticipate the bitter tannin taste this will have when I drink it, more tea in it than milk and sugar now. The cup sits silently on the wooden table. I hear the sonds of a game and typing in the background. My diary is balanced across my knees. My stomach is churning from the cold tea. It's been sitting here all afternoon, and all evening. It's dark. All lights are off save a small black desk lamp, which happens to be from Ikea. I am currently seated on a small blue plastic chair, which is more suited for a child than a person of my size. It's been in my family since I was small enough to use it, and I remember using it as a tool of violence against my siblings when we fought. I've long grown out of that. I've got plenty to do. Even with this feeling of restlessness, I've achieved everything and nothing. Nothing being something that's socially significant. Everything being something that's personally significant. Of course the two do cross at certain points, but it's easier to say "everything and nothing". Though, it's more like "everything and nothing and sometimes in between" which has a kind of rhythm to it. It's like at school, where I know everyone and no one. And sometimes, in between.