Dear 20-year-old me,

So, you flunked out of college
And lost your one true love.
You think you’re lazy, dumb, despicable –
Another useless maggot of our society –
A cancerous tumor bulging up,
Pressing upon our dying Mother Earth.

I know you’re sadly stuck
In the ultimate, existential catch 22.
Claim death,
And stab a dagger in your parents’ hearts.
Keep breathing,
And burden them all as you suffer.

Hold my hand and listen close
As I tell you of another way.
I will show you a path to living.
You can shed your sickly skin.
What is held within you
Is brighter than the darkness
Blacking out your soul.

The trick is not to push harder,
But rather to ease into yourself,
Relax into all that scares you,
Recover what hides and haunts.
Only then can you dig out the dirt.
Take time to purge, so as to heal.

Be patient with the process.
Transformation is within your reach,
But the grabbing is slow and arduous.
Like the alien-nymph buried in the mud,
You will one day emerge anew
With wondrous wings to take flight.

Oh, the lands you will discover!
Your adventures are only beginning.
Every part will piece you together.
Each experience, food for your growth.
You may think you’re outrunning the beast,
But really, you’re steering your wild heart.

Someday you’ll be the touchstone,
The teacher, the leader, the inspiration
For those you’re yet to meet,
But who will find their own way through you.
Your butterfly effect will ripple forth,
Brightening the worlds of many beings.

So, please, my dear former self,
Don’t discard or disregard who you are.
There’s more to us than you know.
You’re a dragonfly in waiting,
Temporarily buried in the muck,
Simply preparing for life in the sun.

Sweet sixteen has fallen dead,
Just as I should have
When I slit my wrist,
Not to die,
Just to find some placation.
So much for that.
To the ER I went anyways.

Now my “friends” have disappeared.
It must be contagious –
This virus spreading through my soul.
My heart has surely rotted.
My mind likely insane.
No one has stepped up to help.

You say you’re forty today?
Ha!
No way you’ve made it that far!
But if it is true,
How?
Why?

I beg of you…
Give me a reason
To keep on living
Through this agonizing pain.
I feel like I’m drowning
In a lake of fire,
As they all laugh around me.

Why was I born
Into this decrepit world
With only a strong will
To see it,
While all else pollutes it?

I am only one.
And I am small,
Broken,
Old before conceived,
Tired and weary.
What can I possibly give
That’s worthwhile?

I beg of you –
Ancient me,
Give me one reason
To keep on living.
For this world is not
Suited for me.
I have been shunned.
I have been mocked.
Worst of all –
I am invisible.

Style Score: 100%

For nine months I was unemployed,
Long enough to make a baby,
But no human grew inside me.
Rather I was pregnant with possibilities.
The possibility of full-time teaching.
The possibility of a new career path.
The possibility of becoming a paid writer.
But also the possibility of life-long dead-end jobs
Or accepting I was too ill to work at all.

My first – and last? – teaching position
Wore me down to the bones of my soul.
I had spent sleepless nights planning spectacular lessons
That turned into chaos in the classroom.
Staff who welcomed me with gusto
Soon turned their backs
As I flailed to manage student behaviors.
Nine-year-olds cursed my existence –
“Stupid dumbass bitch!”
“Fucking racist cunt!”
And the unforgettable, “Crooked eyeliner wearing, emo wannabe, cracker bitch!”
So I gave, gave, gave more of my heart
Until those same kids showed me love.
Hugs in the hallway,
Pictures, cards, and candy started flowing in.
They got me through.

But it wasn’t enough to garner the grace
Of admin, who,
At the end of the year,
Told me I wasn’t up to snuff,
That they didn’t want me another year.

Doubt grew inside me
As the passed stress formed into trauma.
Time lingered on,
My hands shaking at the thought
Of ever teaching again.
Those who can’t do, teach, they say.
But how about those who can’t teach either?
Giving up – really giving up –
Crossed my mind.
But I didn’t.
I had help to pull myself back up.
I worked my weakened muscles.
I dove into the inner recesses of my mind,
Dug up the dirt and revitalized forgotten parts.

After three long seasons,
Just as the ice was melting,
I re-entered the classroom.
First as an occasional sub,
But then as something more.
A teacher up and quit and I was the most equipped
To take her place.
Afraid, but brave, I stepped up to the plate.
Tender-toed and wary still,
I didn’t quite trust at first my abilities.
I needed the encouraging words
Of my new cohort.
And they delivered.
“The students love you!”
“What a great lesson!”
“Good job thinking on your feet!”
I found again my confidence
And trusted my instincts.
I remembered why I love teaching.
There were still the challenging behaviors
And occasional curses from angry children,
But it wasn’t breaking me down.

This time I wasn’t holding back either.
I had the best school subject,
A ton of ideas,
And enough passion to infect the most apathetic teenager
With enthusiasm.
I got permission to take students to the garden –
Our garden! –
The one my husband and I started for the community,
But until then, was mostly unappreciated.
Every week, each class learned firsthand
The wonders of growing your own food.
Prima donnas in high heels saved worms.
The outcasts found fame in the ever-impressive broad fork.
The boys who refused to work in class
Shoveled the hardest.
It didn’t take long before my students
Begged for garden days.

I continued the education on classroom days too.
They learned the meaning of organic,
The difference between selective breeding and genetic engineering,
And the adaptations of wild plants.
I collected all sorts of materials for projects and experiments.
There was no money in the school budget,
But the community donated everything
From tape dispensers to gardening gloves.

I wasn’t just blossoming as a teacher,
But was also finding my own important niche
In my hometown –
Where I had only lived for five years
And was usually known as my husband’s wife.

My nerves still stir at times,
Like an actor approaching the stage.
Stress is no stranger either.
But for the first time,
I’ve found belonging.
Like the marigold seeds
Kids unfurled from dead pods,
I have landed upon rich soil
And am only now beginning to bloom.

(ProWriting Style Score: 100%)

“Haha!” my mother laughed.
“You must have interesting karma
To look so young and be so old inside.”
Yes, funny, but no haha funny.
I thought at three feet tall.

I’m still waiting for the curse
To turn into a blessing,
But at thirty-nine I’m tired of it all,
Tired of being carded,
Tired of parents mistaking me for another student,
Tired of no one taking me seriously.

I was born into the world
With visions of the distant past,
Ideas for the fragile future,
And keen observations of our present state.
I did not want to play.
I wanted to fix the human race.
I wanted to repair the planet.
I wanted all the fighting and destruction to stop.

No wonder by third grade
I’d given up.
Years of trying to inform and guide the way
Wasted on the blissfully ignorant,
Who laughed in my face
… or worse,
Beating me down into despair.

They only saw a child,
Who was meant to listen and obey,
But in my mind I was wise and weary,
Ready to fall on my own sword
If it couldn’t cut through the apathy and greed
Growing thick around me.

Time slid by slowly scratching down
My patience, hope, vitality.
Yet no amount of hard living,
All the falls and blunders,
The drugs and self-destruction,
Could gray my hair nor wrinkle my skin.
My baby cheeks never caved in
And my figure barely fattened.

So I return sweet smiles
Looking down on my false youth,
Pretend I’m who they think I am.
Only you now know the truth –
That I’m tough as nails,
Sharp as a tac,
And hardly innocent.

Oh, my dear tattered T,
How I love you so.
Found in a mall long ago
Among Hot Topic’s tableau,
Catching the eye of this young esthete.

Captivated by your design,
The notes all twirling ‘round,
Playing some mysterious sound,
A song to sing, but left unfound,
With only a skull to sign the by-line.

Many years have you sustained
To class, concerts, meets, and more,
Meeting the eyes who so adore
Your splendor without glamor,
Becoming threadbare but never stained.

Snugger than you were before,
Hugging my frame much tighter.
These days you feel lighter,
But you stay strong, my fighter,
Filling me each wear with ardor.

Some may say your time has come,
That you’re better fit for the grave,
No longer the current rave,
Not worth another save.
Still, I think you’re awesome.

Fighting My Fear

To the monster at my tail,
The all-consuming darkness,
The demon eating me from the inside out,
My persistent bipolar depression –
Know that you will always fail.

You grabbed me when I was small,
Still innocent and naïve,
Oblivious to your existence,
Just trying to grow and get along.
How swiftly you made me fall.

The first battle you almost won.
You withered away my body and soul,
Tricked me into paranoid isolation,
Carried me willingly towards death,
Made me think that you and I were one.

Somehow, I grew stronger,
Shed off your heavy skin,
Almost retrieved my childhood,
Discovered who I really was,
Lingered without you a short time longer.

Then you slyly snuck back inside,
Returned with a vengeance like cancer,
The tumors hidden, but painful,
Taking over my mind and spreading fast.
I thought I had died.

Again and again, you returned,
Both of us fiercer each time.
Each of us learning new tricks,
Straying further away from sanity,
So far away from those concerned.

Yes, you almost won the war.
More than twice I nearly died.
You stole my memories,
But I remembered what mattered.
I got in touch with my inner core.
 
Day and night, I labored away,
Building a new me without you,
Still rubbing out your stain.
I always thought I was strong and tough,
But I had failed to keep you at bay.

I worked muscles long forgotten,
Learned how to love and trust –
Not you, but myself, and select others.
Living became bearable, more navigable.
With my growth, you began to rotten.

Honestly, I still fear you,
Weak and small as you’ve become.
I continue to build my defenses,
Recruiting more soldiers for our next fight.
When you do return, I know what to do.

Pro-Writing Aid Style Score: 79%

Another turn around the sun has begun
And I must greet it with gratitude and ambition.
Can I make my fortieth round worthwhile?
With enough effort, luck, and gumption… perhaps.

First, I’ll quit the habit
Of sucking toxins into my lungs,
The smoke so unappealing
To my dear loved ones.

Second, I’ll sleep soundly,
So as to follow the sun,
Arising in the dewy dawn
And dreaming under the moon.

Third, I’ll train my brain
To stay sane and focus,
Focus on the words of each page,
One after another until I’ve completed a book.

Fourth, I will grab that pay,
Earned fairly and duly with grit,
In a position only I could play
For my gifts will finally be seen.

Lastly, I’ll return to the wilds,
With all my needs on my back,
Traversing mountains and rivers,
Curling down nightly into the earth.

Imagine what could be with these goals achieved.
All the good – and not just for me.
A stronger body and a stronger mind
Will contribute endless gifts to society.