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

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.

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%

Another year is knocking,
But I am not ready to answer.
Don’t they know rebirth doesn’t happen in winter?

I am still unbecoming.
I am still busy undoing.
My bones are still tired.
I don’t feel like pursuing.

I will leave the Christmas tree up.
I will continue to rest.
I had to learn this the hard way:
There’s no use trying to be best.

I do not plan to start anew.
I do not wish to have a goal.
I will not write out things to do,
Or make a vision board of it all.

I have done enough.
I saved more than money.
I saved my life a few times
And still haven’t tasted honey.

It is not me who needs to be sweeter.

I do not need to be better.
It is the years who need to be better to me.