Dear World,

You ever look up, squint at a cloud, and think: “eh, 3/10?” Yeah. That’s me now. That’s my blossoming.

I’ve become a self-proclaimed cloud critic.
Every Sunday, I lie on a patch of grass behind the volleyball pit outside my building and review clouds like they’re auditioning for Cirque du Soleil. That one? “Too try-hard.” This one? “Soft edges, tragic backstory, 4.5 stars.” The one just floating past there? “It’s giving… raccoon in therapy.” I have a Notes file titled Sky Stuff. People stare. I wave like royalty.

At first it was a joke. Something to do when I didn’t know what to do with myself. But then it became a ritual. A quiet kind of devotion.

Because clouds don’t ask to be perfect. They show up, they shapeshift, they fall apart mid-performance and still drift like it means something.

I think I’m learning to do the same.

Style Score: 66%

For the longest time, I’ve had a fear of being perceived. When I noticed anyone noticing me, I would freeze. Whatever I was doing would cease. This would continue on until I reached my twenties. Having many gifts of expression can become overwhelming because you aren’t sure of where to start.
Since I was a child, I have always had a love of writing, singing and movement. I treated each of these journeys as a singular path, not truly realizing how connected all of my skills were in the world of the arts. I would sing with my sister, Imani, into the late hours of the night. Imani would come home from school and teach me the skills she learned in vocal training.
Although I was a writer, I didn’t understand the concept of songwriting. I was fluid in the art of writing short stories, poems, and essays. The concept of songwriting used to make my head ache. I would begin thinking too much about the structure of the song, the melody and the lyrics. It all seemed a difficult skill to master. Until I met someone that gave me an opportunity to create something new. He asked if I wanted to create my very own musical EP.
It was time to put myself to the challenge and treat this as I would any writing assignment. It was necessary to dial down the doubts playing in my mind. When I selected the instrumentals, the words flowed effortlessly. By allowing myself to flow and not worry about mistakes, I discovered how creative I could be.
My inner dialogue improved as I allowed myself to embark on this newer journey. Treat yourself as you would treat your favorite person in the world. I began reading more books that supported having a healthier mind. By taking the time to observe my own thoughts and making adjustments has been the reason I could say yes to trying songwriting.
I had to switch my mindset to listen to the music and the melody the way a singer would. It felt like I dialed into a radio station while listening to the beats simultaneously. I began hearing lyrics and a fresh flow for each track. It was at this moment I realized I was allowing myself to flow. Once I solidified how I wanted everything to sound, I got into the studio and recorded each song.
Although the journey has just begun, I truly am grateful for where this has led me so far. I have met quality people that share in my love of art and music. This new chapter in my life is called Bloom.

Pro Writing Score:100%

Early spring is bringing tiny green leaves to the tips of your twigs.

Last year we planted you. We were so proud of your place in our yard. Big plans and juicy apples were expected, but then a plague of deer came and ate all the budding, baby apples you had sprouted. Deer ate many of your leaves, too.

We were devastated.

As the end of winter approached and you looked so frail, we worried you might not make it to year two. All sticks and no style, you looked weak after months of cold and snow and ice and wind.

You survived. You may still thrive.

We have a plan to hide your apples this year, to try and save them from the many savage deer that will come for your tasty fruit. My wife read that one inventive gardener hangs Christmas tree decorations, red and green bulbs, on the branches of her apple trees. The deer try their best to bite them, but they are quickly made frustrated when they can’t break through. They give up and get going. We will try this trick this year.

Our dreams for you are blossoming as you grow, and we hope you will sprout apples as spring turns to summer.

We will water around you daily. You are in a sunny spot. We will protect you from your predators.

All signs point to Pink Lady apples in the future.

Godspeed.

ProWritingAid Style Score: 76

Life has felt aggressively slow,
As if time has a personal vendetta on my goal.
I lay in bed as the sun glow,
These four walls are taking a physical toll.
My inner voice turns my bed into quick sand,
But I refuse to let my thoughts have the winning hand.
I step outside and I breathe in peace,
I step towards everything that I have planned.
Sweat beads down my face as I walk,
My breathe is strained and I can barely talk.
A bird just flew by and made a low coo,
The beauty in its feathers are bold and true.
I’m glad I decided to get out of the bed this morning,
It really takes one step at a time, I’m learning.
My thoughts of failure still reside,
But I am stronger now so I push them to the side.
I am not able to do much in this season,
For financial, credit and many other reasons.
But what I can do is take another step,
And do everything I can to prep;
For what is owed and was stolen from me,
Will be replenished in my pocket’s times three.
I step again as I struggle to breathe,
I step again away from everything I need to leave.
The passing cars, the beading sun, that gust of wind,
Reminders that a slow life is a luxury and a forever win.
I don’t want to live life focused on the next success,
I want to live life walking away from unnecessary stress.
Another step makes my lungs wheeze,
Another step makes my legs freeze.
I pause where I stand, and reach out my hand.
Towards a rose that blossomed from a bush.
I wrap my hands around the stem and give it a little push.
The thorns are sharp and my hands depart,
As the rose rest back in its place.
So, I leave it right there and continue on my pace,
Because peace and beauty needs its space.
Better understanding for what I need is blossoming this spring,
I tread on my walk and smile at everything life is about to bring.

Style score: 70%

A whisper runs through my mind,
Timid and scared.
While I stare on blankly,
Pretending I’m not there.
A thought tickles lips,
In need of fresh air.
While I stare on blankly,
Wishing to be spared.
Small sounds tumble loose,
Braver than before.
I’m no longer staring blankly,
Though the chokehold has all but won.
Thunder fills my chest,
As I look at what’s begun.
There’s fire in my eyes,
As I fight to stay undone.
The whip cracks,
As I strike out with words.
I’m stronger than I thought,
While I turn back for none.

Style Score 100%

I used to fold myself small—
into silence, into compliance, into whatever shape felt safest. I masked my truth because the world told me it was “too much.” Too loud. Too different. Too complicated. Too me.

But here’s how I’m blossoming:

I am no longer asking for permission to exist as I am.

I wear what feels right on my body. I speak in the ways my brain works. I stim without apology. I teach without pretending to be “neutral.” I write books that disrupt the systems that once tried to erase me. I’m reclaiming space—not just in rooms, but in the narrative itself.

This isn’t a soft bloom. It’s messy and raw and defiant.
But it’s mine.

And I’m not shrinking back.

Sincerely,
Someone finally growing in her own direction

My life has fell apart.
Like the the trees in the fall
But just like the spring
Time, here comes the growth
Spirt. New branches reaching the crown,
New leaf’s Blossoming,
Dancing and blowing freely
While the winds get a Lil breezy.
Standing a Lil taller, feeling
A bit wiser, new heights have been
Reached. Now I’m starting to branch out.
In other words, I’m networking.
Using different platforms
To express my growth & release my pain,
That has been felt with my brain.
Not to brag and boast but
To allow others to Blossom & grow.

My confidence blooms like spring’s first rose, once shy, now proud in the glow of a crowd, no longer afraid to radiate beauty, to walk a runway of my design,where compliments swirl and lift me high. My confidence is blossoming

I celebrate every curve, small or bold, fit or unique—each tells a tale of triumph and journey, riding the waves of doubt, held up by whispers of strength that flow through my veins. My confidence is blossoming

Looking in the mirror, I see more than just a reflection; I find the worth I’ve gathered—golden threads woven from resilience, a tapestry of self-love, unfolding in vivid strokes. My confidence is blossoming

I’ve met my detractors with a smile, letting my worth become my answer, each check I cash, a silent rebuke to those who said I couldn’t stand tall. My confidence is blossoming

Grateful, I bask in the light, no more clinging to shadows of comparison,for even in storms, I shine through, humbled yet fierce in my embrace of the confidence that continues to bloom—each petal a testament, each moment a celebration of the radiant being I’ve become. My confidence is blossoming

Unassuming, she bides her time,
slumbers curled in on herself,
potentiality’s vibrations encapsulated,
resonance her twilight lullaby.
Dawn breaks warm,
night’s chill melting away,
absorbed as nourishment;
she stretches languidly,
testing the confines of her quilt,
unfurls pink and fresh and strong,
face to sun; rising, ready,
sweet perfume on autumn air.

Style Score: 100

New years are meant for starting over
Beginning clean and new
Unless you’re of the queer persuasion
And your government’s against you
Then blossoming becomes a struggle
As you strain simply to bloom,
Crushed under heels of persecution
Swept under rug by bigoted broom
The seeds we sow in ‘25
Require roots down deep, robust
If we’re to thrive and survive,
Under a dictator we can’t trust
To blossom sounds lovely indeed
But queer friends we must burst,
Break barriers and far exceed
Hoping for best, planning for worst

89%

For the longest time, my garden was in a drought

Sometimes I thought I wasn’t meant to grow

Every time I had a drip of success, I would not follow up with more

Inconsistent, not believing I can achieve anything

Having limited beliefs kept me at a level only I could seeI guess eye level, some would say to me,

The sum (some) was the voices of doubt in my head

Subtracting my motivation having divided on what should I do

Leaving me feeling empty with no rest in sight multiple times

That was a fraction of the time, actually that was most of the time

Alright, it was like 99.9%

The whole time (100%) well, the entire time I would lie to everyone, including

My-self, I that was fine

But II’ve could not hide the sadness in my eyes

Blur vision from the tears I’ve cried behind closed doors

Now look at me, blossoming, me

Before I felt the thrones on my side until I rose to the occasion

Poured into myself, not letting those seeds of ego and pride get me down

Having loved one’s check on my progress when I would forget to water my plant

Boundaries allowed me to finally love me and set the standard of what I will and won’t tolerate

It changed my life

As I am writing this piece, I cried

But I used these tears to grow the confidence in me, the unwavering belief in me

I got this

Only I can stop this and won’t stop until I am at the top of whatever I want to accomplish

-Load the car and write the note-

Moving out was terrifying. I enjoyed the first few weeks in my apartment alone.
I was rarely alone when I was with my ex. I depended on him. To get to school, to get to work, to get to rehearsal, to eat, to have a place to sleep, etc, etc. I had to pay a price for all of that. Nothing comes for free.

-Grab your bag and grab your coat-

I remember leaving his house for the last time. I packed that morning as fast as humanly possible. I forgot a lot of things. He kept begging me not to leave, I kept begging to go. I got dressed in my own clothes for the first time in a hot minute. Normally I just grabbed his because mine were always trapped behind the headboard.
I didn’t know it was the last. His hand curved into my inner thigh, the country road we had driven on for nearly two years rolled by until it disappeared into the highway. He dropped me off and my parents greeted him warmly, and hugged him and I think I realized then I hated him.

-Tell the ones that need to know-

My best friend and I got together a little after I got home so I could tell them everything about my ex and I.
And this guy I just met.

Their mouth was agape the whole conversation. I told them I didn’t think my ex was a bad guy, Cole said that was because I haven’t experienced a good one yet.I told them about this guy I met and there was hope in their eyes.

What if this guy was lulling me in with false promises like everyone else before?

-We are headed north.-

We broke up. He left me. I finally reached out to this guy and… the rest is just confetti.

-One foot in and one foot back-

I open up a little just to resend everything I just said. I’ve been told before that I’m “too much” and yet somehow, “not good enough,” at the same time.

I had two people I adored when I was growing up. They were my best friends. They weren’t the best of friends.

One of them called my self harm scars “stupid people scars.” Said I was only doing it for attention, though I never intended for anyone to see them. If I wanted to be effective I should just full-send it and make the little white lines vertical. I opened up to him only for him to say I was too much and that I was crazy and occasionally throw it back in my face.

-But it don’t pay to live like that-

When we were in high school, he caught my ex hitting me, he stepped in and tried to get me out.
When I was going through the worst of my disordered eating habits, he bought me food and sat with me.
He confused me. I believed in my heart he loved me. I still do. I think he just didn’t know how to love right. When he met his boyfriend and they fell in love, I think the two of them learned from one another. They’re still very happy together in their own place. We don’t talk, but, the last time we did, he said that he hopes I get everything I want out of life. And that he’ll be there. His boyfriend and him are planning to get engaged.
I think my boyfriend and I could be like that.

-So I cut ties and I jumped the track-

When we stopped talking, my best friend and I got closer and I got happier. Stress about extracurriculars and homework was all I had to worry about. Life was good. My senior year of highschool was one of my favorite periods of my life.
The other is right now.

-Never to return-

-Oh, Brooklyn, Brooklyn, take me in-

I met my boyfriend at a summer camp. We were both counselors. The counselors were all talking about this, that and the other. I initially wanted to get out of there, but this guy I had just met started talking about video games designed to be difficult.
I was on a Fear and Hunger kick, I hoped he would know the game. He didn’t. He said it reminded him of another game, I said that it reminds of a book, and so on and so on.
Suddenly thirty minutes pass and I’m sitting on the table in the makeup room talking candidly about life, books, video games and art with someone who might as well have been a stranger. But I was hooked.

He looked at me with a kind of recognition that you don’t see terribly often. Like he already knew me. The strange thing was, I felt like I knew him too.

-Are you aware of the shape I’m in?-

When I started having panic attacks at camp, I was fucking embarrassed. I had kept my composure in front of strangers all my life, until right then.

He came in— and I guess he wasn’t really a stranger. He coaxed me through it, though anxiously because he was paranoid about how people would take it. Us— in a room— completely alone.
I could not help that I was drawn to him. I let him see that I was not infallible. I felt closer to him every second we spent together.

Is that wrong of me?

-My hands, they shake, my head, it spins-

We were watching the play at Pocket Sandwich Theater and I knew I needed to make that leap. Just to take his hand.
My brain kept screaming this could just be another game. He could be saying all these sweet words and writing all these beautiful poems just to lure me in.

It wouldn’t be the first time. My first boyfriend told me his dream was to be a teacher with me, and that students would think we were adorable.
He told me after we had been dating for nearly a year that his dream was to take my virginity.

My most recent ex told me his dream was to go to Chicago and be a famous actor, and to have me waiting at the stage door for him.
But what about my stage door? Would he have ever shown up?

But my heart was so sure with this guy what I wasn’t sure with the others.
I could actually see a couple years ahead. It was messy and a little undefined, but the vision was there.

I took his hand. The momentary shock as my fingers laced around his, those beautiful grey and blue eyes widened like I had done something unfathomable.
The smile he gave me, as he wrapped his other hand around ours.

-Oh, Brooklyn, Brooklyn, take me in-

-When at first I learned to speak-

My mother said I learned to talk before I walked. My first word— well to be more accurate it was a sentence.
“Where is it?”
Ironic with my ADHD.

-I used all my words to fight-

I was a terrible person as a middle schooler. I was filled with rage and hormones and everything that I once knew changed.
I was filled with depression that I didn’t understand was depression.

I pushed my friends as far as they would go. I felt so guilty every time that I’d grovel and apologize. Rinse. Repeat. Suddenly not a little girl anymore. I hated myself. My friends didn’t understand. I hated them too.

I bullied, and I seethed, and I said things that I should have never thought, much less said. Much less believed to be true.

-Ah, but it’s just a waste of time-

My best friend and I went to a cabin out in the country for their birthday.
One night, we sat in the bed, and we cried. I apologized for everything I had done when I was a middle schooler. They did too.
We hugged.

-Yeah, it’s such a waste of time-

-Three words that became hard to say-

Fear is a nasty thing. Anxiety and depression too. It’s unfair that your own mind can want to not be alone, yet force you to be lonely. Then yell at you for it.

“I need help.”

Those became so hard.

“I miss you.”

I say those often to a lot of different people. My friends back home, my kids, my boyfriend. I miss them all, truly.

-I and Love and You-

I struggled to say it to my boyfriend when I knew I should’ve. It happened at the right moment that’s true and I’m very grateful for how perfect that first moment was. But—

There was a night where we were playing Minecraft together and I almost said it.

He was so excited about the house. He noticed all the little red details I put everywhere for him. He said no one had ever put such thought into surprising him with something.
I almost said, “it’s because I love you, duh.”
But I didn’t.

-I and Love and You-

I wanna be able to look in the mirror and not examine it. I want to see my features and smile.
I want to enjoy my face reflecting back at me.
I want to like it, to the point that I don’t even acknowledge it.

This morning I got up to take a shower before class. I peeled off my boyfriend’s shirt, and neatly folded it next to the sink. I looked up to grab a hair tie and—

I liked the way my body looked. I like the curvature of my waist, the shape of my breasts, the way my hair fell behind my shoulders even though it was a bit unkempt.

I liked my face. That’s the hard thing to like about myself. As an actor you spend so much of your time examining and painting your face. As an autistic person, I used to practice making facial expressions in the mirror to look more natural. I am so used to my face. Normally, I try to avoid staring at it.
But I looked at the color of my eyes, their asymmetrical shape, the fullness of my lashes—
I looked at my lips, redder and a bit drier than normal, they’re always a little more red after my boyfriend leaves cause his scruff scratches me—
I looked at my nose, I usually hate it. But today I thought, “I look nice.”

I think— I think everyday I get closer to it. Not by much, and it’s never consistent but it has happened more and more as the years go by.

I’m so close to looking in the mirror and saying it.

-I and Love and You-

My baby girl
With bouncing curls
You are the light of my life
Day and night
You bring sunshine and smiles everywhere you go
My heart aches with how much I love you so
I don’t know where I’d be
If there were no you and me
I can’t imagine a life without you
I honestly don’t know what I do
I’m so lucky to watch you grow
I love you more than you’ll ever know

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%

I don’t really have to think what is blossoming in my life, 2025 is a growing year, You have a Drive that while you have BAD DAYS, yet You push on, You are working on Starting Your tire shop after hours and it’s GOING TO BE AMAZING, you DON’T QUIT, This year is Your year and GREATLY things are happening from a Dodge charger ( hemi motor) to your business will be running within a few months) The clowns are taking off , Who knows what else is going to happen, NOW is my time.

Dear Fear,
I hope you know this whole thing is sincere.
For the most part, I’m glad that you’re here.
Even through the times when you’ve lit up my senses and sent this overactive imagination into a manic hyper-drive trying to analyze every worst-case scenario reading in between their unseen lines. Even when you’ve caused some opportunities that were offered to you and me to slip through these fingertips because my grip was too preoccupied. Even when you’ve supplied my mind with a damaging panic that I couldn’t quite define or properly manage. Despite the times where I tried to forget everything and run, there were also times where I tried to face everything and rise. So I’m grateful that I’ve been able to find some creative angels amidst the mist of what I’ve missed with you within and right by my side.
You’ve led me to places that I would have never found if you weren’t around me. Granted, there are some situations where you came in while I was drowning in my emoceans that I wish I could replace. Yet, even then, you led me to some deeply challenging depths entangled in roots of the truth that we are all blessed. You’ve helped me preserve through the tears that tore apart my mind and chest, where there were tears which scared me from taking another step. You’ve broken the seal of how it feels to really feel real while facing situations that made it seem like life was coming to an end. You’ve done your best to protect me from regrets, mistakes, and early deaths.
So thank you, fear.
For being here.

Style score of sixty four 😊

FEAR

Fear, what does it mean: an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat?

“He is prey to irrational fears”

There are many types of fears, however they are three types I would like to refer to:

The Three Types of Fear are as follows

Rational Fear: Rational fears occur where there is a real, imminent threat…

Primal Fear: Primal fear is defined as an innate fear that is programmed into our brains. …

Irrational Fear: Irrational fears are the ones that don’t make logical sense and can vary greatly from person to person.

Ok

They say you should not fear no man or woman/ everything and fear God, so I leave with this:

Do we respect God or have a fear of him? It is both. I respect, love and fear him all at he same time. Respect for who he is, creating of everything including me, love him because of the sacrifice he made for me, and fear his judgment if I do things that are wrong. 

As a Strong independent woman, what do I fear?

Failure 

Now, I have to tell you what is failure: 

noun

lack of success.

“An economic policy that is doomed to failure”

Similar:

lack of success

nonsuccess

non-fulfillment

defeat

frustration

collapse

foundering

misfiring

coming to nothing

falling through

fizzling out

fiasco

debacle

catastrophe

disaster

blunder

damp squirt

flop

botch

hash

foul-up

screwup

washout

letdown

dead loss

dead duck

lead balloon

lemon

fail

cock-up

pig’s ear

snafu

clinker

View 2 vulgar slang words

Opposite:

success, the omission of expected or required action.

“Their failure to comply with the basic rules”

their failure to comply with the basic rules”

Similar:

negligence

remissness

nonobservance

nonperformance

dereliction

omission

neglect

oversight

I said all things to you, because I was neglected as child and always wanted give a performance. Scared to let anyone down to be washout, letdown and all words highlighted. I want to perfect and successful; however, no one is perfect expect for Jesus. Successful comes in so many aspects in career and life. The true meaning of success is: True success means staying true to a deeper sense of purpose, despite deviating from a superficial social norm. It means finding joy in suffering. It means having the courage to peruse one’s own journey when confronted by the fear of uncertainty. I have found some joy in my suffering and I will confront the fear of uncertainty. I have a deeper sense of purpose and I am out of the norm. 

I want to share 13 steps to be successful in life: 

Find a passion. To be successful, it is important to define what you want in life. …

Show commitment. …

Learn from the journey. …

Have fun along the way. …

Think positively. …

Be honest with yourself. …

Take away distractions. …

Depend on yourself.

&

What words can replace “successful”?

Synonym Drs

triumphant.

effective.

efficacious.

accomplished.

achieved.

complete.

fruitful.

perfect.

Drake & Trey Songz’s song about success said all what is to be successful. They want the money, cars and the hoes. I want that too, lol. 

In conclusion, I guess that is why I always wanted not to fail, not saying I did not, because I did have some hiccups. I made some mistakes. Did I let stop me? NO! I will never ever quit. I learned from my mistakes. I brush myself and learned from my lessons. When I fall, I get right back up and try again. Power of the tongue and law of attractions. Say something and will come true. So, I will not be a failure and I will l be a success. Fear is another emotion and do not let it overpower you. It is okay to be fearful or be afraid, however do not it is let consume you. 

To Fear,

Hey, how are you? I can’t stop thinking about you. Reminiscing on the first time we met, or at least the first time I remember meeting.

Man, has it been that long? I was seven years old the first time you entered my thoughts. Your small voice whispering in my ear- “this isn’t forever, you will die”..

“Mommy!!” I screamed. Mom came running to my bedside, “ what is it, what is it??!”

“ I am going to die!” I cried, remember?

Mom calmly replied “ Yes one day we all will die”. Even though mom sat by my side, one hand on my heart, one hand on my forehead.. talkin to me about the power of the beautiful, white light of protection..

You fear, you stuck to me. With me. On me. Through all the stages of maturity.. child, adolescent, young womanhood . We’ve been inseparable.

Like the time you reminded me if I should ever be happy and loved, it wouldn’t last.. I could die. They would die.

You never left my side, fear. From worrying mom would crash in a drunk driving accident on the way home from the bar, to when dad and mom fought so badly the cops would show up.. you told me they would kill one another, eventually.

Ohhhh reminds me when Maya was born, my beautiful daughter, making me a mom. I quickly realized I was no good as a mother, thanks to you, fear.

I just knew that I would fail, is failing, all the time. Especially with you gripping my hands. Nudging me this is too, too good to last, it won’t last. Happiness. Joy. Serenity. Love.

And suddenly, unexpectedly- I muted our connection. With breath. With movement and postures, mantras and mudras. Gratitude was my morning coffee when the first light made its way inside.

You see, I started my life with you. For as long ago as I can recall, and through the decades of my life. Now, the vail is removed. I am content. I am comfortable. I aged well. I am loved. I love me, inside and out. Yet, here you come around again…

I’m older, I’m wiser, how come you don’t care? For old times sake you whisper-“ hey, it’s too late. You’ve waited too long, you’ve wasted too much time fucking up,
with love,
with your family
and children,

So this I am healed now, happy, love, joy stuff? It isn’t staying. You’re gonna die, or you’ll experience the greatest loss you will ever know”

that’s what I get for holding your hand, fear. All this time, all these years? You’re still here?

Maybe you were trying to tell me all along? Teaching me to live as if nothing real lasts? That I will die.. I am going to die.. we will all die, one day. So treat yourself and others you love deeply with the truest affections possible. We never really are promised the time..

Thank you, dear fear. How could I have not seen? The mastery of letting you go can only come from me..

Style score was 100.

“Fear nothing” people say, but we all quiver. Our hands tremble and nobody sees. We look at our phones, and see inspirational messages every day. The hustle of work, the chase of improvement. Everything’s okay. We know of the wonderful lives that exist. We see them on our screens. Possibilities exist, consistency, consistency, the motivational quotes state. But when we look up from our screens, reality may hit us. When looking down, we can’t look up. And when we look up, there is so much to see, to fill in, the empty canvas, more daunting than the instructions given by someone else, who might want to help, but looking out for their own statistic. The canvases of people’s lives are there, and we find ours hard to paint. People take a look at themselves and try, many succeeding, or so it seems. The numbers on the screen may consume.

In college, as I sit in a psychology class, statistics are talked about. I’m scared. Fill out Question number 6. On it, there is a statistic that kids in the back of the class are more likely to fail. It is scientifically proven by a case study. I am a straight A student in the back of the class. A student whose family didn’t go to college; drop-outs, divorces, poverty, addictions. A student who has snuck in about 5 minutes late each day with a large coffee in hand. It is only the second week of the term and I feel the weight of the numbers squeezing me. I had considered a leave of absence, and the fact that I am even sitting in the chair is me fighting against the numbers.

I am in the middle of a move, the stress almost crushing me, turning me into a number lost in millions. Lost. Oh, moves are one of the most statistically stressful events in a person’s life. I find this out, and feel better, although I have moved lots before, throughout childhood, many homes, never stressed like this. So, I get a coffee from the new shop downstairs, try to find class, almost late, almost thinking of skipping. Another statistic, more absences, higher risk of leaving. And I sit in the back of class, late for attendance. Second class, I am in the back of the class, my mind wandering, missing my name, speaking up about the end, and my teacher says, “oh, I don’t know how I missed that”. I know it’s me who missed that. A head to count when I often don’t know where mine is.

After the first day of class, I had gone to the new coffee shop again, until dark. Would a statistic do this? On the third day of class, there was no new coffee shop. A car had crashed into it, breaking statistics, an unusual blip. I fear the statistics of everything. I don’t want to be another bad blip, shattering like the windows that left scrapes and bruises. I fear my name will be called and I won’t hear it. I fear the numbers will envelope me. I fear the screens that drown me, even with positivity that I’m afraid won’t be there. I fear, I fear, I fear.

We all fight to not be a number, a statistic in our family, another head to count. We all want to be seen. I’m scared that we have turned ourselves into numbers. So, every day I try to change the formula. Spread words and my kindness, letting us all know we are not just a statistic, a number on the screen, and we can continue to fight against it. Even while sitting in the back of the class, I will not quiver, but know that there is no fight, just undivided attention to what is in front of us, not below or above, but straight ahead.

Style Score: 81% (added lines between paragraphs though)