Lisa

sweet girl. sweet dreams.

[that-leo-writer]

Reader needed

Hey guys. I am just writing another story and it's in drafts right now. But I have no idea how to like structure it or something. I need someone to help me out with this, so if you're interested to read or like contribute, please reach out.

[that-leo-writer]

Me feeling like I no longer will be the sad girl melancholic poet that trauma dumps everywhere and I made lemonade out of all the lemons that life threw at me. Little did I know that the lemonade was sugar-free and was so sour that It'd make mu skin crawl.

Ingredients of the lemonade:

1. My parents: Everytime I come close to realising that my parents are good people; they just didn't have the resources to be good parents and they'll definitely try their best now, they somehow prove me wrong everytime. To all my feelings, and memories, they will say "fuck you" and then say the most diabolical, gut-wrenching thing that'd make me want to die for the next week or so. For example, when I told her why I hated going back to them since they always used to threaten to kill me when things didn't go their way, she said "It's my fault that I got you so educates. You should have stayed in the village and gotten married at 15 so you would know what struggle actually is."

2. Classmates: These people back-bitch about me every chance they get; talking about how I practically yelled at them forgetting to mention that they would always gang upon me, And in an argument never let me speak and would only speak their mind and leave. On my birthday, when I tried to mend things by calling them for my birthday all of them lied to me by saying that they were asleep. Pfft. Yeah. Then they came to my room just to say "Don't contact us again". My my, how tables have turned. Every exam season, I get a mandatory call, message, or even a visit everytime they need something. Like Bitch????

3. My body: I do realise it's my fault for not taking care of my health properly. But when life throws so many curve balls, you kind of forget about your limits and keep pushing. I got sugar problems because of that. So all my favorite food items? Gone. Cravings? Unfulfilled. It hurts that so much is happening, but I don't even have a chance to eat ice cream amidst all and cry. I can only cry, which feels lonely. But well who gives a fuck about my feelings anyways?

[that-leo-writer]

When I stare at the ocean, it feels home. When I look at the sky, it calls me home. There is a place called paradise above it all. Perhaps when I transcend all level of dimensions, I will find it. But for now I can only have faith in one thing. There are pillars holding up the paradise. Thousands and thousands of pillars of beliefs. The longer I live, the further away I go from it. The more I think of it, The farther the dimension of time pulls me away from it. I have never ever thought of stepping a foot in it.

Perhaps, I had some other images of paradise. For me, it was a place where the gods and goddesses, tired from the whims of rules and regulations, dimensions of lies and truth, created a place where no pain existed. Hence, the dimension of sadness wouldn't hold them back from anywhere they wanted to be.

I am just a mere thinker; an imaginer. In the pursuit, I feel myself become an imagination; or perhaps an image. Always skewed, rarely accurate. A model; a partial representation of what life is supposed to be. I am a byproduct of the world, its history, and its choice. How do I even understand the concept of reality when everything is a representation of a scenery I used to draw as a child?

[that-leo-writer]

When I stare at the ocean, it feels home. When I look at the sky, it calls me home. There is a place called paradise above it all. Perhaps when I transcend all level of dimensions, I will find it. But for now I can only have faith in one thing. There are pillars holding up the paradise. Thousands and thousands of pillars of beliefs. The longer I live, the further away I go from it. The more I think of it, The farther the dimension of time pulls me away from it. I have never ever thought of stepping a foot in it.

Perhaps, I had some other images of paradise. For me, it was a place where the gods and goddesses, tired from the whims of rules and regulations, dimensions of lies and truth, created a place where no pain existed. Hence, the dimension of sadness wouldn't hold them back from anywhere they wanted to be.

I am just a mere thinker; an imaginer. In the pursuit, I feel myself become an imagination; or perhaps an image. Always skewed, rarely accurate. A model; a partial representation of what life is supposed to be. I am a byproduct of the world, its history, and its choice. How do I even understand the concept of reality when everything is a representation of a scenery I used to draw as a child?

[that-leo-writer]

I always watched my mother give up something or the other for my father. In the meanwhile I learnt the art of sacrificing too.

But oh my, Oh my. When I met him, I learnt the beauty of sacrifice. The sacrifice of the last piece of chicken nugget, or the sacrifice of the last bit of sleep. It is all worthwhile when it is for him.

And for the first time, I understood my mother.

[that-leo-writer]

I always watched my mother give up something or the other for my father. In the meanwhile I learnt the art of sacrificing too.

But oh my, Oh my. When I met him, I learnt the beauty of sacrifice. The sacrifice of the last piece of chicken nugget, or the sacrifice of the last bit of sleep. It is all worthwhile when it is for him.

And for the first time, I understood my mother.

[that-leo-writer]

"And sometimes, we forget we live. Amidst waking up at 7 AM to feeding the pet to rush for clothes to rushing to get to school/work to getting frustrated about life to returning home at 6-7 PM, to finding time for others and ourselves, we forget that we live too. We live in memories of a person that we might not remember anymore. Who knows if they remember who you are or what is your name. They might just remember a part of you, of maybe how you looked like when you smiled; of maybe how you liked home-made lunches more than the canteen ones; of maybe how you'd get pissed off with your white/light colored clothes getting dirty; of how obsessed with that one cartoon you'd been when you were a child. We live in memories, reminders and in life. While we say, 'Aah, life isn't fair. I want to d!e', lets see that we are leaving; we are breathing and the clock is ticking. We're nearing the end anyways, but we don't want to regret the last minutes of our live"

[that-leo-writer]

"And sometimes, we forget we live. Amidst waking up at 7 AM to feeding the pet to rush for clothes to rushing to get to school/work to getting frustrated about life to returning home at 6-7 PM, to finding time for others and ourselves, we forget that we live too. We live in memories of a person that we might not remember anymore. Who knows if they remember who you are or what is your name. They might just remember a part of you, of maybe how you looked like when you smiled; of maybe how you liked home-made lunches more than the canteen ones; of maybe how you'd get pissed off with your white/light colored clothes getting dirty; of how obsessed with that one cartoon you'd been when you were a child. We live in memories, reminders and in life. While we say, 'Aah, life isn't fair. I want to d!e', lets see that we are leaving; we are breathing and the clock is ticking. We're nearing the end anyways, but we don't want to regret the last minutes of our live"