Maybe you were
Maybe you weren’t
Who’s to say?
Cause so were they

Feeling the same
Filled with shame,
Grief, disgust, unloved,
And all of the above

So who’s to say
When we’re all afraid

I met my younger self for coffee.
She was fifteen minutes late.
I was a few minutes early and made sure to grab a table outside.
We are both wearing loose fitting clothes and no bra.
Her eyebrows are overplucked where mine have grown in.
She apologizes and tells me she’s a little hungover.
I laugh softly and tell her it’s okay.
I mention I don’t drink anymore and ask her what she did last night.
She said she went to a party with her boyfriend, but his ex-girlfriend was there.
I know that she drank too much to settle her nerves because she never feels good enough.
I don’t have it in me to tell her we still feel that way.
Finally, we order.
She gets an iced vanilla latte.
I order an herbal iced tea.
I tell her I don’t drink coffee or caffeine.
She asks why, and I tell her it makes me anxious.
I tell her my heart is sensitive.
I look in her eyes and can sense she feels the same but can’t admit it.
I tell her it’s so good to see her.
I grab her hand which is the same as mine although we are different people.
I look at her body knowing she still feels safe in it.
Detached, maybe, but safe.
She hasn’t yet known grief or fear or sickness.
I wish I could remember what that feels like.
She tells me it’s good to get out of the house.
I tell her this is the first time I’ve left my apartment all week.
I explain I finally have my own place, and it’s been the happiest time in my life.
She says she can’t wait to live by herself one day, and we both agree we love spending time alone.
She tells me she’s going to the movies after this.
She loves film and wants to work in Hollywood.
I tell her I used to work in Hollywood and think it’s overrated, but I love movies, too.
I tell her I am going to church after this.
She says she doesn’t believe in God.
I look closely at her skin and wish I still had it.
It’s rosy and sunburnt from her spring break trip to Mexico.
She says it was the first time she’s been out of the country.
I tell her I’ve been to over twenty and even lived in Paris.
She says her mom loves Paris, but they haven’t spoken in months.
I tell her to call her mom while she still can.
I then give her a hug goodbye and struggle to let go.
I want to tell her I’ve searched for her everywhere and have fought endlessly to feel like she does right now.
My eyes swell with tears, but she just smiles and tells me we’ll see each other again in a few years.

ProWriting Aid: 100

Dear Old Me,
It’s been a while, I haven’t forgotten you. If you’re wondering what happened, well, a lot did. To simply explain, I lost you. I took my eyes off you for a second, and walked in the opposite direction. And with one distraction, I drifted away from you. A series of events took me down a road that I had to walk. A lesson had to be learned; wisdom to be earned. But just like Dorothy, I’ve found my way home. I’m too intelligent to be this negligent!
I won’t place blame anywhere; it was my responsibility to handle you with care. I won’t indulge in the pain that took place, I’ve come out that dark space. Set my pride aside, stare you in the face and ask you for grace. I can see you in the distance. Slowly, I’m finding my way back to you. I followed your trail of tears, filled with joy and laughter, because that is who you are. Your dry humor jokes, only we understand, reach my ears. My path lit by the radiance of your smile. Stay right there because I’m coming towards you. I’m bringing a bag of wisdom, a heap of humility, and a hint of gratitude. No more distractions nor will i succumb to manipulative actions. Releasing the distraction of emotional attachment. 
I remember the quiet mornings and peaceful nights. Thank God, reality found its place just soon enough for me to remember your face. What a gift from the Most High, to be reconnected to “I”. It shall be a beautiful reunion and a new beginning. I am coming for you! We will accomplish all those goals you had set and dreams you’ve dreamt! No more passiveness! This is your life and you can have it all… happiness most of all. 

(style score 100%)

Old me would have a lot of judgement and criticism for current me to handle. Current me would have to sit her down and help her understand how things unfolded. She’d probably fall off her chair. I imagined old me sending a letter to current me and then turning up at the door.

Letter from a Former Self
Good morning, it’s been a minute.
I hope you are aware,
Those ideas you had were fine like china teacups-

What was that? Sit a minute? Sure. Maybe we can have a little tea;

Do you remember the time Mrs. Wright gifted us an entire set, with the blue flowers around the rim?

Do you still like teacups like that?

What color did we finally paint our kitchen?

Do you still like handmade toys and long walks with ice cream cones at the end?

Did we stay the course or bail on the grumpy hubby? Of course we stayed. How many prayers did it take? I can see something finally worked, you look content. So he must have stopped with the shoving and choking and all that.

What devotionals do we like lately?

How many languages do we speak these days?

Did the kids go to college?

Style score 100%

Next time I stop to smell the flowers,
I will be sure to also tell them that I, too, bloom this time of year.
Though, it wasn’t always like this, you see.
I had to first learn that watering others before I water myself only causes me to wither.
And for years, I did not bloom because I only focused on “fixing” myself.
But would you dare look at a rose and tell it it’s not good enough?
That it needs to hurry?
Bloom faster?
Be better?
A flower has the luxury of being itself and blooming when it’s ready,
And one day, it dawned on me that I deserve that luxury, too.
I didn’t yet know that if a flower doesn’t bloom, you change its environment — not it.
And so, after many years and multiple moves, changed homes, changed climates,
changed jobs, changed relationships, changed air, water, and energy…I am in bloom.
And this is all to say that I am blooming because I finally feel safe enough to grow roots
and be myself,
And I know now that it was not my own doing but God’s pruning that made the
difference.
I am rooted, grounded, and growing each day,
And I know better now than to let just anyone pick me or enjoy my beauty.

It’s been ten years,
Yet we still pretend.

We hold a smile,
When it’s asked for.

We do as we’re told,
Even though we hate it.

And everywhere we go,
It’s all the same.

Everywhere, we go,
It’s the same.

It’s been ten years.
We’re still pretending.

In 2013, something horrid happened to me. It didn’t happen to just me, or affect me the most. It was a betrayal that left me and my children unsafe.

For years, I disregarded how this affected me as I focused on how it affected others I love. How it affected me became a small side story. So, for years, I didn’t bother acknowledging my personal hurt. I had huge obligations to assist others through their journey toward ok-ness. Those others are my children.

What happens then, if there is no ok-ness for me? I’m about to tell you.

The first thing was tears. It was about ten months of tears every night. By myself, alone. For all of us. In waves. During the day, I was raising kids. At night, I was grieving my wounds and losses.

Next came denial. Maybe we can live with this? After all, we aren’t dead and it’s surely been misery, but what’s the way out of misery? Others I loved chose denial, and it seemed to work for them. Some who got hurt are still using denial to cope.

One day, like a lifting fog, I realized denial costs too much. Almost immediately, intense anger replaced my denial.

It’s exhausting to be perpetually angry. Being the body of all-consuming anger is only useful if it leads to justice, and, sadly, it didn’t.

Numbness replaced the anger. God faded into meaninglessness. Emotions faded from red to pastel pink. The duty to continue to exist remained, and that was all I could manage.

For years.

For a decade.

I became a pale version of myself. I could function, raise kids, held down a complicated job. I paid my mortgage and took showers and cooked meals and taught my kids skills to live. Kind of.

If I could have been a better version of myself, I could have taught them more than the bits I managed. I guess I taught them to persevere. The struggle became normal. I thought I had pulled it off, this existing after horror gig. I believed I had healed. What I had actually done was to mute emotions and function in logic as a self protective mechanism. It was very effective; I felt functional. I had emotions, I just vetted them. Numbness was surviving. I felt safe enough to go on.

It took 11 1/2 years for me to fully face my healing. Finally, I could leave safe logic and dulled existence on the table to pursue a little authentic joy.

At first it was scary to feel emotions with some intensity. Emotions can lie! Slowly I let them lead me to some old loves: baking, drawing, building, painting, sewing, exploring, dancing, writing. Can I do it? For myself? And can I survive feeling it? Can I forge trusting relationships with others? Can I trust myself? The world is again wild with color, after so many years of color washed out by pain. Will I choose healing or familiar pain?

Not every day goes too well. Some days I retreat. This healing journey will take more time. But now, instead of hiding behind logic, I use creativity to process life, to feel myself heal, to be alive.

This is like waking from a trance. It is stepping back into my authentic self after an absence.

It is nice to recognize the person inside; although I am much older and much more worn, I have a hard fought value. I am here.

Style score 100%

To the world,
I want you to know life isn’t always simple for me. My privacy and strength perpetuate a life of ease. But if only you could see behind the scenes. You don’t know the burden I bear or the stories I’m ashamed to share. I take my grief in stride, it doesn’t mean I haven’t cried. I have a confession, I too, deal with depression. It’s as though being strong means nothing is wrong. Believe it or not, my family isn’t perfect. Some holidays aren’t even worth the drama; I was always taught to respect my momma. They say you have a home and car, the good life can’t be far. It isn’t always all good, it’s that I handle my problems differently than you would. I’m not one for pity parties, so please don’t feel sorry. My mission is for you to understand that, at some point, life has handed us all a dirty hand. Don’t always assume people are fine, instead do the world a favor and always be kind.

Heartbreak
Is everywhere like dropped dishes
She sits and sips her coffee
Appears calm and composed
Amid the shattered glass that today was, figuratively speaking
This time

She looks through her memory of today
And finds the pieces of porcelain that have pretty filagrees and bits of flowers
To laugh if she can
She looks aside from the pieces
To see what is not broken
Fixes her eyes on what is whole and real and doing well
She clutches those things in her hands
She has to be careful not to grasp them too tightly
In case even that
Were broken.

She waters plants
She sings songs
She breathes cold air
She plans a garden
She plans a project bigger than this day
She shops for dishes
She is defiantly hopeful

The church ladies said “what a devoted mother”
The neighbor said “your so busy all the time”
Truly
She’s running from one moment to the next preventing disasters & providing cues.
She:
Hugs this child and hopes it is somehow healing to them both
He:
Stares out a window quietly
No words
He is a mystery
Hope is present like a cat that doesn’t like attention.
She is sure
Today was “not that bad”
Brave face to the moon
She is sure
Another day will come
Soon enough.

It’s the weight of blankets in the morning’s hush,
The birdsong presented in the dawn’s first blush.
The cold floor beneath my waking feet,
The lingering scents that make spaces sweet.
The warmth of sunlight slipping through the blinds- a quiet echo of simpler times.
It’s the something in everything, subtle yet bright,
Existing without need for sight.
The way life hums in moments small,
A quiet presence embracing all.

At first, I was afraid of thunderstorms.
I would hide in the bathroom with my doll in my arms.
I knew where to go if a tornado came.
I’d sleep in bathtubs or basements to feel less afraid.
At school, they taught us to get under the desk,
And I think I’ve been keeping myself low to the ground ever since.
Maybe that’s why, as I grew older,
I became fearful of airplanes,
And now I’m terrified to fly.
In my mind’s eye, it doesn’t seem right to be up in the sky.
I always feel safer in a window seat near the wing.
I guess I find the clouds sort of beautiful and calming.
They make me briefly forget I gave away all control,
To whoever’s flying the plane that I don’t know at all.
Maybe losing control is my real fear in life,
Or maybe my real fear is dying.
Maybe it’s ending up like my mom,
Or maybe it’s being too afraid of trying.
I know I’m afraid of becoming insignificant.
I know I’m afraid of wasting another year,
And now, I think I’m afraid of how I respond to fear.
Of all the toxins I’ve had to remove,
Fear has been the most potent and lasting.
Fear takes over the brain without even asking.
Stuck in survival with stress hormones recycling,
I realize I’m tense even when I’m relaxing.
They say knowledge is the antidote to fear,
But I know that not to be true,
This is what the Tree of Knowledge will do.
The more I learned, the more fearful I became,
And because of fear, I didn’t see things the same.
I want to watch clouds, but my judgement is clouded.
All the new information made my thoughts too crowded.
I realize now everything is neutral until slapped with perspective,
And living in fear is no way to live.

Style Score: 100%

If there are four elements, you are my fifth.
Somewhere between the earth, fire, water, and air,
You are the salt that makes everything better.
You fill my empty spaces and surpass limitations.
You are the substance that cradles the stars.
You are the essence that holds the heavenly bodies.
Even the planets would call you perfect.
You could heal and cure and outsmart time.
My “quinta essentia” and the best of your kind.
I look at you and only see God’s handiwork.

Style Score: 100%

to feel my sadness
and the madness

the silence
and imbalance

to love my hatred
of my ego wasted

twisted and
unmotivated

to care,
and to continue

something new
long overdue

One novel to write the wrongs
Of a society that says I don’t belong
Where a woman neither mother nor wife
Is looked down on for living an unfulfilled life,
Berated and branded a broken soul
In need of someone’s other half to make her whole

One novel to break the contract
Of a creator’s falsely progressive act
Representation dangled in a cruel game
To be yanked away, pawned for money and fame
The rallying cry of my lived reality
Silenced by the masses’ romantic mentality

One novel as an act of resistance
Of lust and romance as the root of existence
A story to leave the stereotypes upended
A forgotten identity lovingly represented
Born from the ashes of what might’ve been
That the marginalized may rise again

One novel before the year is out
One novel, and this my vow
To defend a group cast out and betrayed
To keep to my goal and never stray
Weaving a narrative authentically told
My voice never packaged and sold

At the stroke of midnight
I promise, this year to do right
I will commit to discipline 
Remember, sugar is a sin

This year I will lose 15 pounds
I’ll pass on the second round
Spend more time with family and friends
Will you get another day after this one ends?

I will budget better 
No, I don’t need a new sweater
I will sing, dance, and laugh,
Until I get a charley horse in my calf

Taking the optimism route
No self-doubt 
Try something new
Make a dollar or two

Sell my pasta salad
Hopefully, it’s a hit on somebody’s palate
I may even go to church
Getting up early on Sunday won’t hurt

This year, I’m all about improving and growth
And on that note, 
Wishing you all success in every goal
And happiness to your soul