And so it unfolds. Another arguement and I’m still stuck at the table. A problem I was not at fault for, and yet I still fell to blame. For what? Guilt? Not at all. Fear of truth? Could’nt be farther from it.. The real truth was; I wanted to change. I had been forced to change time and time again, until finally, I decided to on my own. Blame fell on my name as easily as hate to a problem with an untold excuse. I accepted it and took another step towards climbing that ever extending ladder of expectations that was built before my eyes. As easily as saying these walls were built around me, the belief arose that these walls were not walls, but mountains that were always there. Millions upon billions of years of hidden activity had constructed these restrictions, these barriers, that now limited my access to a desired destination in life. These countless ages were summed up into the matter of the couple of years labeled as my “being of a teenager.” Also as strong as a mountain, these barriers would not instantly disappear, yet needed to dissipate. For a natural phenomenom would not just dissapear unless it was longed for. Right? “A watched pot never boils,” but whenever I turned my back, an avalanche brought closer these encroaching surroundings that taunted me so. Not a sigh I could scream would be hear from past what I’ve known. Nor be felt through this barracade. Therefore I sit in silence, and block my mental cries. Too constructed in what you have to do, and I wouldn’t expect a second glace, nor want one if I had to turn my back on my surroundings… They’re all around me now. The restriction so thick I could hear it pulsing in my ears like the heart of a torn lover. Excellerated heartbeat’s a lie, I know what I felt. The red of anger so deafening I can hold it in the palm of my hand, only until I close a fist around it. That red can be perceived in every sense imagineable, and if you don’t believe me then stay where you are. Reject my invitation to my mountain oasis… For every oasis has its desert encroaching like that the red of anger, silently choking any stifle of a scream I’ve once retained. Although not every desert has its oasis. Long since have I looked at a blossoming flower and truly felt the beauty of such a creation. Furthermore, I see no flower, fell no beauty, and bless no creation that I cannot call my own. For a flower to grow, support is needed. Where support lacks inadequate, subtle, furtile land intervenes. With no beauty being perceived, I cower from the land that may one day form yet another mountain barrier after hundreds of centuries from those unseen forces that I have created on my own negative will. Where beauty may lay, a fortress barrier awaits.

-Rashelle Dutson