^1^ life itself

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Breathe.
Speak.
Listen.
Try to hold back the anger.
Turn on the radio.
Leave everything else behind.
A daily routine, it feels so comfortable. Music is my life and my escape from the everyday bickering of my family. My dad doesn't like me because I'm a girl and not his favorite child. My mom loves "all of us" but doesn't seem to care what I'm doing unless it's benefiting her in some way. Oh and also I'm 17 and not allowed to leave my house. So music helps me during all of this. I can feel, I can love, I can create my own. Everything I write ends up flowing like a poem, a beautiful dove smothered in this charcoal fire-pit of a life. That's at least how I feel while I'm writing.
Words.
Painting.
Silence.
My radio has gone off. I look up and expect to see someone standing there, laughing at me. But there is nobody there, only the silence. Then the thunder. Our electricity must've gone off.
Having enough of the day I break my family's rule #563 for me and I climb outside my window into the warm summer rain. I hop onto my brother's best bike and life as I knew it disappears.

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