mother, i hope you understand that i have my own path to take. i can hear your voice reaching through the halls of my mind, pushing me to follow in your path and be the one to carry the flame of your unfulfilled dreams. but, dear mother, i beg you to realize that my desire is entirely unique to me; they are a symphony of hushed voices that sing to the pulse of my existence.

i want to chase the palette of my grail. i seek to paint the world with the vibrant hues of my imagination and draw a future that reflects the depth of my soul and the beauty of my own dreams. your ambitions have cast a shadow over mine, and the manner in which our tales collide has suffocated the burning spark that dwells within me. i have an intense thirst to be able to look at the world through my own prism and to walk along the road of my heart's desire without the shadows cast by yours. i am begging you to listen to my words because they are burdened with the weight of a soul that longs to be set free.

mother, allow me the ability to roam; i want to experience the thrill of venturing into the unknown and determining my own path. i beg you to release me from the chains of expectations, for my soul craves the ease to move with no boundaries within the boundless horizon of possibility. give me room to breathe and a chance to uncover the layers of my own existence without the burden of your hopes and ambitions. let me have the freedom to find my way through the labyrinth of being alive, to trip, fall, and get back up on my own pace. please spare me the unrelenting storm of judgment and control that washes the color out of my entire existence.

how can i be open in front of others when i feel like i can't breathe because of your suffocating grip? i can't let out the complex web of emotions i've been feeling because you're always holding me back. how can i let others in, if i can't even let myself be vulnerable around you?

i am sick and tired of living in the shadow of your expectations;

i am begging you my whole life to please at least—
at least, let me create my own story and be the writer of it.

or perhaps your dreams would be the death of me.