A Reason to Live.

Honestly I don't know what this is. Is a poem or a short story? I really love it and I hope you guys do too. It is really about growing up and finding happiness.

They all ask us the same question at the same age. Age five they ask who do you want to be? We were all hopeful and worry free we answered with stars in our eyes. Some of us wanted to be dancer or a lovely queen. A singer maybe or an adventure striving astronaut that has no fear. Being kids we believed that we could be these things.Why wouldn't we believe in such a thing? Nobody is born to hate the world. At such a young age we believed we could touch the stars. We believed we could be a singer. We believed because we had hope. We also had dreams but now our dreams have become nightmares that we cannot stand to see.Our hopes have diminished and our stars have been blown out.  

Age fifteen they ask again. What do you want to be? We glare into our dreadful future and realize we don't know. They expect us to know our plan and how to execute it. We all go into a melt down of despair and regret. Flashbacks of happiness that seems so out of reach now flushes into our heads. The stress of tests and the effort to not drown in our own blood. We kill ourselves wanting to be accepted into this society that needs help to live not help to die.

Age sixteen we all look at the blades. We think about the sweet glorious relief of death and the way our faces will stand still. The look of sadness will be frozen on our lips. Guns will be taunting us and we will all stare blankly at the wall in our room. Numb from the world poking us with its needles of hate. The stress to be perfect, to have perfect grades,perfect scores,perfect room, and perfect clothes. It eats us as we eat our feelings away. Some will not eat at all. We throw up this hate this image of what we think we are.  Each and every one of us has no clue what our life is going to be like in the future. Some could be rich but not loved. Some will be poor but loved.

Age eighteen we will graduate and scared of the world. Officially on our own expected to make it big. Afraid we will fail in a miserable in an attempt to impress our old friends who used to have friendly faces. College seems not as fun with the rushing crowds and boring classes. Life seems slow and useless. We eventually lose hope and die in our own numb minds.

Age twenty one we find pleasure in a drink or two. Drown our demons in liquor but they know how to swim. We attempt to work but fail. We attempt to find love but only to find out its lust. Your shoulders feel weak as if they have the world on them.  We lay on our beds sobbing while eating comfort food. Next to the comfort food is the glass of poison that will kill you, and nobody should die in vain. Next to the the drink is a couple of pills to make us fall asleep.  

Age thirty we find the one we love. They love us back with all their love. They give us their hearts. We find family and peace will fill our mind. Stress will release from our body and our souls will be set free. Love is beautiful and we realize life is worth living. Life is worth the struggle of not knowing what’s going to happen. Life is worth the stress and the constant beating of being the best. We learn to take one day at a time and enjoy the simple things.

Age forty five you see your wonderful kids smile and you remember the way you used to smile. The way of joy seems to glow on their faces. Its a new generation and kids are more independent than ever.  The world is distracted from meaning and the truth. Its still scared but now they know how to hide it. You realize this and you still don't know what to do. You crave to help your children to feel loved, but they insist they do not need it for in their minds love does not exist.

You slowly notice your marriage is falling apart. He doesn't come home some nights and you can see in his eyes that he is slowly falling out of love. He insists that his job is keeping him busy but the panties you found explain it all.

Age fifty you panic and decide to drink again. Glass after glass you find yourself wondering how did you end up this way. Your kids start to worry about you. They plead ”Mother no more”, but you insist its fine. The tables have turned and now they are the worried ones. You try to make it up to your kids by buying them unnecessary things. They always thought love wasn't real but now since it actually gone they miss the voice you used to have.  Your husband decided to divorce you after all the years of promises he would there for you. Just words they are that bury you in regret. Your kids leave you in hopeless despair. Embarrassed that their mother is a drunk.

Age Fifty one you are alone. At Least that what you always thought. Broke and almost sober you pray. You pray and pray till your mouth is dry. Your throats sting from crying and your voice is filed you so much guilt.  Everyday you sat there in the old broken down church that has been left for you to cry in.  You pray for your children and your pray for lost and the broken. You pray till your knees are numb from the cold floor that was left behind. Your face starts glowing and you start reading. The word is said he can help and you trust that he does. The bottle is empty and you never grab another. He grants you strength to do better and you do.

Age Fifty Five you start helping others to find the joy in the truth that life is worth living. Your life is only a short time but its beautiful and an meaningful time. You spread the truth through the AA meetings and lost children on the streets. You find love in the one who supports you emotionally and spiritually. You win your children back and they also find love with the one who saved the human race.

Age to the end you're happy. You know you are happy and the children who are grown are happy too. The feeling of being happy is so hard to explain. Death is not painful when you are at peace with your soul. Your demons are tamed and you are lifted to the heavens. Yes, your children will cry. They know you are not dead. You live on in their hearts and you will not be forgotten and you will never walk again in the black parade that still walks in the streets of the lost. He is the light that burns bright behind your eyes. The one that lifts you to the stars that still shine.

Author's Note

Please do not be nice. Please tell me the truth on what you think about this. I would love advice on how to make my writing better. Thank you.