I Dream of a Place

December 13, 2011
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My Pen dances across the paper doing pirouettes and fondues like an elegant ballerina. It flows across the paper like water in a stream. I write to escape.
When I’m writing the world is okay. I have no troubles or anything to worry about and I have all the time in the world.
I write of a far away land where expectations don’t exist. A place where no one will scold you or yell. Where the biggest problem you will face is deciding what to wear to school that day.
I take myself to this place, where I am independent with no one counting on me where the weight is lifted off my shoulders and I can breathe. I can live. Not survive but actually live.

I dream of this place… but I know it doesn’t exist.

Just as I slowly drift away into this dream land that my pen and I created, “RING” goes my phone. It’s my mother. I drop the pen.
“Hello” I say. But, I know where this conversation is going. I’ve had it one too many times. I hang up shaking and collapse.
Not from self pity, no. I’m done with that. I collapse with a feeling of exhaustion. Exhaustion from what life throws at me. And honestly I wish I could be done. But I can’t stop now. I have to please you, I want your approval. I crave it, I work myself to the bone for you and what do I get back? Nothing. Not a pat on the back, but a slap in the face. Your words cut me like a razor and leave me with scars that remind me of why I’ll never be good enough for you.

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