Grease on grip.

Growing up can be a struggle.

Tiny inconveniences can be powerful. They can create a horrible perspective on the everyday. They can trigger petty arguments and up voice tone. They can shadow the bright side of things, crush equally tiny joys.

Words can be deceiving. They can drag you into conclusions, make you drop the same expressions. Only, you say what you mean. They cannot be grasped from the complexity that contains them because spelling each word out requires time. But more than that, courage. Because not speaking back is a fight against the self. The conflict narrows down into suppressing feelings. But words can easily escape from merely cupped hands. And can rest on the tongue.

Plans can be disappointing. But more than plans, people. Self often included. Everything can conspire to change the scheme of things, or, an afternoon that can suddenly shift views, throw away principles, hide any bit of understanding.

Humility can be elusive. It can flee when overjoy is ready to take its place. Or when every detail of everything within sight is trash. When stares are thrown without care, words being heard don't make sense, people aren't who you want to be with. When all is lost except for that which keeps the head high and if not burnt, will fill the mouth with dirt, make the face kiss the earth.

Rage can have a face. Like a pair of round eyes underlined with tears. Or a pair of trembling lips. Or each square inch of the face, carefully and perfectly pasted on a bathroom mirror.

Pity can eat everything up. All feelings can be sucked up. A screaming chest can be released in a whisper of confusion. The world can be a vacuum. The past can be a frustration. And the present - it can be pushed into the future.