We are weaved together by our stories, our history
Tales woven through our ancestry, when our parents talk of their younger days
When their life was ahead of them, the future was anything and everything, they speak of their old friends with ache in their soul
Of times when their hearts were filled with fire and passion, running through fields growing memories  planted by the world around them
When they could sprint the wind in their hair, adventure ahead, hope in their heart.
They speak of the days behind with woe
Because essentially just their ideas of the future as a young mind, was more exciting than reality.
As dreams failed and hope faded
As their minds wear and their treasured stories that made them who they are fog over
As threads begin to wear
As tales they once yelled to the world with pride frays at the details
Your whole world slipping away as the thread unwinds
But they get the joy of passing down the tapestry to their pride and joy, to the life they made, every one of us
Every moment we live with ease of no appreciation for every experience every laugh
Moments we take for granted
Moments we will pine for when they run out
Moments the elderly urge us with fire to be aware of the importance of
Moments we'll wish we listened to them about
There is a vast tapestry of memories behind you and infinite thread panning out in front of you, connecting to other tapestries, visiting at friends, at enemies, joining with soul-mates future, some cut away, some ripped from the tapestries to soon before they could weave their own
A loose thread cannot be fixed once more are made, and the patterns will never be what you want them to be, savour each stitch
Take time on every thread
You don't want to be sitting there 50 years old thinking about the life you wasted
About the memories faded
About how every slipping memories never like the moment you made it
Don't be sitting 90 filled with regret
Filled with hatred for every opportunity you left
Screaming into the voice about how much you hate what your life become.

because they say time flys when your having fun truth is time only flies when you're young.
pk tunuri Feb 3
When you can't help yourself, they say
You are not passionate enough okay

You can't run away
You will end up regretting every day

Is this how you repay
Your parents! Think before you betray

When you can't help yourself, they say
Even gods can't help you today
There will be a point of time in everyone's life where they can't help themselves.
We get to listen to all types of
discouraging lines unfortunately
when we CAN'T HELP Ourselves.
writerReader Jan 2015
then my mom
told me
"work out
your'
problems with me
now.
Or do you want
to date me for
the rest of you life?"
Sarah Isma May 8
I’ve now grown and I turned out alright
But now I realize that this flow isn’t a smooth flight
The scary things that I see is the reason I held to my seat tight
Here are the few things
That made me hate this horrible ride
        the fact you realize that your parents are never right.
To see that they are flawed beings, with broken wings and damned mistakes.
To realize the truths and the smiles they fake,
Growing up to see only the image portrayed- was only for your sake.
They hide the tears and shower us with laughter
They told us stories and happily ever after,
But just as soon
Only that I realize they were telling their own dreams,
        That had slipped right out their fingers
So ask me what’s the saddest part growing up?
To see the hollow sadness from the two people,
who once i thought was happiest.
i never really knew how much things could effect parents, the slightest action i could now see their subtle response- i understand now. Its just the fire in them burning out, only dim enough for them to keep me going- so i don't burn out too.
We have all old habits we can never talk about.
The truth is I never told my parents about the way I could not go a day without his skin touching mine
and some days my mind would not get passed some days
Because mom and dad, I am sorry its hard for me to not be held.
The truth is I never told my parents what happened behind closed bathroom doors
And I wish I would have listened to Dad calling me beautiful
Because sometimes the mirror told me otherwise
Because mom and dad, I am sorry I have been beating myself up over the control I never had.
The truth is I thought I was going to die when he broke my heart
And how sometimes I still try to let go of him in the small moments
But even the small moments add up and that is when I think maybe I can never get better
Because mom and dad, I am sorry I gave a boy too much  of myself when he did not know how to handle it.
The truth is I never told my parents about the life I was living
And how sometimes blowing smoke and after the drinking and the throwing up and just wanting to be in love
Because mom and dad, I am sorry I never knew how to help myself.
I will be better.
ME Jul 21
I’m the nameless, nobody
Born of a nameless, nonexistent mum
And a nameless, nonexistent dad
In a placeless city
New in town and I don’t mind
To re-shape my mind
By a town that is so ruthless,
So thoughtless and -
Maybe
I am feeble
But certainy, in a new form
A coming storm,
A cyclone,
A cyclops,
A mongrel
Annihilating,
Devastating,
Decapitating your approval and pity
I’m glass, seen through and sharp
An undecipheral writing
Meticulously weird and uncanny
I’m a boy, a girl and a tranny
A maniac,
A brainiac,
A pyromaniac,
A junior granny
It’s funny
Wondering why I’m the way I am
You sculptor -
I’m leaving,
Somewhere where I will not find you
For the bullied and the forgotten generation.

Can’t we find a solution instead of demolition, intentionally or unintentionally?
city of flips Jul 17
wants to be my friend, for I am poet-woman nineteen.

she is sweet but sad. super sad.

a good poet who wants to guide me.

but there/theirs is the odor, not faint, of wants wanting,
the pus of corruption behind the curtains,
the Wizard-ess of Oz's
special blackout curtains.

seen how easy, how her illusions,
my medium rare rejections,
morph into her delusions,

and her delusions devolve into
her conspiracy theories.

"SHE will be my mentor, poetess lover, teacher for no charge!"

my parents thinks it's great, she wants (to be) skin in my game.

my parents will find this poem accidentally, exactly,

how I do not want
to be skinned alive.

for I am poet-woman nineteen and still! now, long past
the point of being fooled, the point of no return.

and see no point,
have no intention,
of returning to either valley

no more conning my mind into letting my body be-fused.^  

that ain't me babe.
Little house
Timeless street
Childhood garden

The scent of your preschool playground after a storm on a Wednesday in may

The distinguishable noise of your parents' doorbell

The weepy feeling looking at childhood photos and knowing you'll never get those moments back

The melancholy moment you realize the book you're reading was your favorite bedtime story

The second the atmosphere shifts and you're suddenly thrown back to memories of your mothers embrace on a stormy night

The suffocating feeling of revisiting tales thinning at the ends as your recollection slowly fades

The slipping grip of what once was that will never be again, slowly turning faded and acid washed until its nothing but a feeling you cant put a name to

Nostalgia
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