Thursday, December 2, 2010

Parental PDA - A Teenage Crisis?

Public Display of Affection... = the end of our innocence?

PFFFT. Give me a break. With the media all over sex scandals and the likes, how do you not get used to it? Books, movies, magazines... It's all over. *End of the world tone*: It's taking over our livesss....

Okay. Seriously, now. You walk in the door from your awful day at school, where so-and-so was kissing your crush, and you find out said so-and-so is your best friend, and......... you get the point. Anyway. You walk into your house, and your parents are making out on the couch. And, you're like, "EWWWWW. Get a room," or maybe, "EW EW EW EW EW *gag*." Or, maybe you're just weird, and you're like, "Aww, that's so sweet.. DO IT AGAIN!"

Dx.

But, turn it around. They're probably together because they're in love, yes? They probably conceived and reproduced, yes? So, they're probably not virgins, either. IT'S GOING TO HAPPEN. Get over it.

However, on the couch? Really? That's awkward. Parents, we love you, we really do, and it's great that you love each other, because hateful couples really aren't worth the world, but seriously. Get a room. You have the master bedroom for a reason. Use it. Please.

Teenagers... Accept that your parents have lives, just like you do. IT WON'T KILL YOU. Just like you'd like to kiss your boyfriend/girlfriend, your parents would like to kiss their partners, too. And, they have every right to do so.

Just not in moving vehicles. It's dangerous. :D

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Blood.

Blood
_____________

Red
Painful
Release.

Do you need it?
She thinks not.
The release is key, she tells me.
It lets her be free.

No.

What are you holding
With such burden?
Is it...
Anger?
Frustration?
Shame?
Or is it an addiction?
Does it make you feel better to hurt someone?
To hurt yourself?
To release the vital fluid that keeps you alive?

Why do you play with death?
She says she doesn't want to hurt us.

Then why does my heart tear with every little scar on her arms?
Her legs,
Her chest.
They're scarred.
And abused.
By herself.

She leaves us nothing whole to build from.
Us, her friends.
The ones who care.

Come, talk to us.
We know you're hurting.
You're slipping.
The red gashes hold no friction.
Only pain.
And regret.
And hurt.

Come, talk to us.
Yell at us until your lungs grow dry and weak.
Scream at us until the agony has released itself.

But, please...
If you care,
As we know you do,
Stop hurting yourself.

Put the blade down.