Little girl,

Don’t put those glass slippers on your feet. They don’t fit. They don’t belong. I know how much you long to be a damsel in distress, like those girls in cupcake dresses whose lives are always a mess until their prince seals their fate with pretty words and a kiss. Don’t envy those girls trapped in the TV screen. They don’t exist. Don’t put those glass slippers on your feet. They will break and cut your skin. This is the start of a long journey, and your path calls for hiking shoes.

Little girl, you have so many thoughts. They bounce around inside your skull like ping-pong balls. Take off your shoes, just for a moment. Press your feet into the soil. Inhale. Exhale. I will teach you how to ground yourself.

Put your shoes on. Do not be timid. Where we’re going, “shy” does not exist. You are not shy. You are brilliant and audacious and someone—something—has stolen your voice. Raise your hand and speak before someone speaks for you. You don’t have time to lose yourself.

Little girl, feel your emotions and feel them fully. Don’t bottle them up. If something rattles you, they will sizzle and foam until you explode. If you feel weary, find a patch of soft grass. Sprawl out and cry. Tear the grass up with your hands. I want to see dirt under your nails. Kick the air like it hurt you and twist and writhe till your body goes limp. Where we’re going, big girls must learn to cry.

If on this journey you see a flower you like, don’t just walk past it. Stop and admire it. Tuck it into your pocket. Pluck the petals and drop them on the ground like fairy dust. Or share the flower with someone you love. This is a rocky, barren path. You must be gracious. If the earth offers you a gift for your troubles, bow your head to the ground and thank it.

Little girl, I know you’re aching to see the end of this path. Walk slower now. This is not a journey to be completed, this is a journey to be enjoyed. Because once it ends, this path will disappear and you will never find your way back. I beg you to gather every flower you find and make bouquets out of them. Use your voice, raise it. Louder. Feel the grass. Feel every bruised knee and broken heart and warm embrace. Because one day this path will end, and there will be no trace.

Little girl, put on your hiking shoes.

Style Score: 100%

Dear Past Me,

Look at you—trying so hard, carrying so much. I see you. I know how heavy it’s been. But I need you to know something: you don’t have to stay here.
You’ve already taken the first step toward change, and that alone is something to be proud of. Now, it’s time to let go, unlearn, and grow.
I know—it’s easier said than done. But aren’t you worth it? Aren’t you tired of feeling stuck, trapped in the same cycle, falling back into bad habits shaped by TV, music, and the world around you? And it’s not just that. Think about the habits you absorbed from your family—the ones you didn’t even realize were shaping you until you got older.
But here’s the truth: you don’t have to carry that anymore. Let go of the hurt. Let go of the regrets. Let go of the belief that you always have to be perfect. Take accountability for your life, but also give yourself grace. Do the work, not because you have to, but because you deserve to be free.
Get back to the things that bring you joy—singing, dancing, moving your body, and breathing deeply. Let your inner child run free—she’s been waiting for you. And if anyone is watching? Let them. She deserves to be seen. You deserve to be seen.
Be present. No more letting intrusive thoughts steal your joy—the day, the hour, the minute, the second. You’ve lost too much time to them already. A small inconvenience does not have the power to ruin your day unless you give it permission. Choose peace. Choose happiness. Choose yourself. But most of all, choose God—because He has already chosen you. When the weight feels too heavy, remember you don’t carry it alone. He is with you, guiding every step.
If you can’t control it, let it go. Give it to God. Release it. Lighten your load. You deserve to feel free. Your fiancé, kids, friends, family, and even that no-good job will benefit from a happier, lighter version of you. But the one who will benefit the most? You.
You only have one life to live, and God has already written a beautiful story for you. Don’t let fear or doubt keep you from stepping into it. Trust in His timing, His plan, and His love. There’s still so much left in you—especially when you get back to doing what makes you feel alive. Don’t wait until it’s too late, looking back at a life filled with “would’ve,” “should’ve,” and “could’ve.” You already have a few—you don’t need more.
So start today. Slight changes, big impact.
You don’t have to have it all figured out—just take the first step, trust God, and trust yourself. He already knows the path ahead. Surrender it all to Him, and the rest will follow.
Now is your time. You’re ready. Step into the life you were meant to live.

I love you.

Style Score86%

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.

To the Girl Who Still Had to Learn to Be Free,

I see you—curled small, a whisper in a crowded room, a ghost in your own life. You fold yourself into corners, silent, unseen, hoping the world will pass without asking too much of you. I see the weight of your silence, the way it presses into your ribs, how you carry it like armor, mistaking it for safety. But silence is not a shield—it is a cage. And, my love, you were never meant to live caged.

You were taught that smallness is survival, that bending keeps you from breaking, that love is something earned in quiet obedience. But love should not feel like holding your breath. Love should not be bought with suffering.

I wish I could tell you that the road ahead is smooth, that you will wake up one morning and simply feel free. But healing is not a straight path—it is winding, tangled, a forest of echoes and shadows. Some nights, fear will creep in like fog, curling around your ankles, whispering that you are not enough, that you never were. But I promise you, fear is a liar. And you are not made of whispers—you are made of storms.

There will be days when old ghosts knock at your door. Days when your body remembers before your mind does—when hands from the past still linger on your skin, when voices once cruel still hum in your ears. These days will be hard. You will wonder if you are doomed to carry them forever. But hear me:
You are not their hands.
You are not their words.
You are not the things they did to you.
You are something far, far greater.

There will be a morning when you wake, and for the first time in years, the air does not feel heavy. A moment when laughter escapes your lips and does not feel borrowed. A day when you catch your reflection and do not see damage, but resilience—when you see not a survivor, but a warrior, a creator, a force. You will come to know that healing does not mean forgetting, nor does it mean erasing the past. Healing is learning to live despite it, to grow around the scars, to bloom in the ruins, wild and untamed.

I wish you could see us now. Standing tall, laughing loud, wearing colours that once felt too bold, speaking truths that once felt too dangerous. I have found joy, not because the world became gentler, but because I did. Because I learned that the softness I once feared was not weakness, but power.

You will unlearn the shame they fed you. You will stop seeing yourself through the eyes of those who broke you and start seeing yourself through the eyes of the one who healed you. And that one, my love, is you.

One day, you will stand in a room full of people, and your voice will not shake. You will speak, and they will listen—not because you have finally become enough for them, but because you have finally realized you were always enough for yourself.

And when the past comes knocking, as it sometimes will, you will no longer answer. You will no longer open the door. You will not let old wounds write your future.

One day, you will write this letter—not as a plea, not as a promise, but as a testament. A declaration that you have returned to yourself. That you have come home, at last.

With love you always deserved,
From the Me Who Finally Knows

ProWritingAid Style Score: 80%

A letter to my childhood:
You are so lucky.
You’re smarter than even you know.
You are so loved. 
Hug your parents more.
Hug your grandparents more.
Hug everyone you love more. 
Don’t take family for granted; you’ll miss them when they go.
Know that you are safe, even when the words don’t always make you feel that way.
Read everything; it makes you happy.
Never stop learning.
Don’t let mom cut your hair…

A letter to my teens:
You don’t have to look like everyone else; embrace your individuality.
You shouldn’t cry just because you have a healthy human body.
Love yourself, especially when it feels like no one else will. 
Your voice matters, so keep writing; use it to get everything out.
Someday someone will want to hear it.
Keep reading; it still makes you happy.
Cherish your childishness; hold it close for as long as you can.
Don’t date the bad boy; even when he’s better, he still won’t be good for you. 
I know it’s not just a phase, but sometimes it is.
And didn’t we already say don’t let mom cut your hair?

A letter to my 20s:
Your body will never be the same; the accident made sure of that.
But remember we said not to cry about being in a healthy human body 
Why did you stop reading if it made you happy?
It’s okay to like things he doesn’t; you don’t have to force yourself to fit him.
Complacency is not contentment, and contentment is not joy.
You are not stuck.
You owe nothing to anyone.
Letting go isn’t failure or weakness or selfishness.
You don’t have to go back to something that doesn’t work just to make sure it still doesn’t work.
And isn’t there anyone you can trust with your hair?!

A letter to my 30s:
Alcohol doesn’t make things fun after you wake up sober.
Being single is hard, but dating is harder.
You are not cut out for online dating.
Passion can be fleeting, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it.
Remember, though, that butterflies are actually anxiety. 
Excuses are not attractive.
Young is dumb, and dumb is dangerous.
Looking is not liking, and it most certainly is not love.
You still shouldn’t date the bad boy. 
You already know how to let go. 
You’re an adult, and it’s time to figure out how to be one on your own.
And, no, there’s no one you can trust with your hair.

A letter to this past year:
Therapy works.
Just because your anxiety was right before doesn’t mean it always is.
Peace is paradise, not boredom. 
Stillness and solitude are the sacred foundations for your creativity.
Travel is more than just a temporary escape from life.
You are a professional, and you deserve to take up qualified space.
You can write.
You can share.
You can be part of a safe community.
You can learn to build a better life outside of what you’ve always known.
Live at your own pace.
Move your body in ways that make you smile.
Enjoy your food, and let it nourish you, too.
Learn to trust and love again; he’s worth it.
And bless all that is holy because we finally found someone who knows what to do with your hair!

A letter to the future:
Progress isn’t linear. 
You’re still lucky.
You’re still loved.
You’re still smarter than you know.
You’re never stuck.
Love others hard.
Love yourself harder.
Love the life you intentionally create.
It’s always okay to explore new ways.
It’s always okay to have a voice.
It’s always okay to let go.
Keep reading.
Keep writing.
Keep sharing.
Keep learning. 
And someday you’ll finally figure out how to do your own hair.

(100% Style Score)

If I Warned Me
If I warn of heartbreak
What risks will I take?
If I warn of vulnerability,
I’ll then conceal what others see.
If I warn of uncertainty,
Will I, too timid, ever be?
I’ll choose to live in mystery
Betwixt the fiery sparks that flee
In the rhythm of life’s spontaneity
Sans warnings from the likes of me

100%

Dear New & Improved Me,

As I take a moment to reflect on our journey, I feel compelled to share my thoughts and wisdom from the version of me that once was. Though I may feel distant, I am very much a part of who you are today.

First, let me commend you. You’ve shown remarkable courage in shedding self-doubt and the weight of others’ expectations. I remember when we hesitated to speak our truth, fearing disappointment. But look at you now embracing authenticity and pursuing passions that once seemed unreachable! Nurture that brave spirit; it’s one of your greatest treasures.

Remember the importance of self-compassion. We were our harshest critics, plagued by negative thoughts like storm clouds. But you’ve learned to transform those inner dialogues into supportive conversations. Keep that up! When you stumble, treat yourself with the kindness you would offer a dear friend. You deserve that love.

Don’t forget the power of connection. I see how you’ve built a network of friends and mentors who uplift and inspire you. Cherish these relationships as they are mirrors reflecting your growth. Continue to nurture these connections as they will guide you through life’s inevitable challenges.

Embrace your fears, new me. Don’t shy away from them. They are not your enemies but signposts pointing you toward growth. Each time you step outside your comfort zone, you expand your possibilities. Remember that exhilarating moment when you conquered a fear? Keep chasing those feelings!

Stay curious! The old me often felt stagnant and trapped in routines and cycles. Now, I see you seeking new experiences and learning with an open heart. This curiosity fuels your creativity and keeps your spirit vibrant. Never let that flame dim; explore new interests, read voraciously, and embrace the unknown.

Lastly, remain grounded in gratitude. It’s easy to get swept away in the pursuit of more and forget the gifts of the present. Reflect daily on what you appreciate, no matter how small. This practice will anchor you through storms and remind you of the beauty that surrounds you.

As you move forward, know it’s okay to evolve. The journey may twist and turn, and uncertainty will arise. Trust your ability to navigate life’s complexities you possess an inner strength that can weather any storm!

In closing, I want you to know how proud I am of you. You are a testament to growth, resilience, and the power of self-love. Carry the lessons of the past but don’t let them define you. The future is bright, and I can’t wait to see how you continue to shine.

With all my love,
Your old self

My dear,

You had everything figured out. Or rather, in your time, you have everything figured out. I mustn’t envy you for it. I made my decision now. I made my decision proud – to be who I want to be with little to no direction. A poet with spare change. It’s not enough to buy a coffee, but my tongue flickers at the thought of this manifestation.
Darling, you scrape every corner for change to buy your cat some food and yourself a can of spaghetti. You pour yourself a glass of wine and give thanks for what you have. You can make and buy yourself a coffee, and you’re holding down a corporate 9-5. Nothing is uncertain for you. Nothing but your relationships is uncertain for you. Nothing but your next meal may seem uncertain for you, but you know you’ll head to the corner store tomorrow for a snack or two.
I can be nothing but proud of you. I am proud of your growth, and I know that you are, too. You say it almost every day. You should be most proud to say that you will not move on without grace. Before you leave this apartment, you’ll thank every corner of it for your stay. Then, you’ll move on to another and create memories that you didn’t expect to create.
Darling, this time especially is uncertain. I almost wish I could warn you of it. Our corporate 9-5 is no longer ours. Honestly, it never was. The life that we are manifesting is creating destruction. Yes, this time is uncertain. Ironically, it brings happiness and rebellion, and with this you are creating abundance without knowing. At least, that’s what you’re being told.
Messages are delivered to you through symbolism. Although confusing, your intuition translates the message for you. It says, “ This change is more intimidating than the first, but this incoming blessing will show you what it’s worth.”

Lovingly,
Your Future Self

59% Style Score

Lately I have been practicing meditation, Namaste

The new me wants to take over the stubborn old me is like no Ima stay

It is a constant battle of will, will I or won’t I change

The new way of thinking and doing things still has me afraid

But the old way of doing things would always be a destructive path

I wanted a way out, and I found it finally

Well, I am not there yet. It is an ongoing thing.

Never was i expressive emotional. I would let things spill over.

Bottling up feelings of anger, resentment and not allowing anyone to

Not even me, even with a key I would deny entry

I need to heal

I needed to feel but for the longest I was numb to it all

Now I feel it all. I am working on the challenge of balance

I am proud of who I was and who I am now because even at my worst,

I still knew ill be here somehow

Not allowing the past to define me, but more so to inspire me

Showing me who I should and should not be

I saw the spot of hope even in my darkest times

With support from my family telling me everything is going to be fine

Loving the inner child in me and telling him it’s going to be alright

I love you, Isaac

I love myself too

How can an old me exist in the past?
Or does this prompt require me to fast
Forward
A message in a bottle from my sequel
Versions of “I” and “me” deemed unequal
Jagged glass, tossed about the sea, deemed polished
An unavoidable trajectory praised or admonished
Am I ever new, if perpetually used?
If the old us is younger, are we not confused?
Bemused
The past and future writing in the present tense.
Therefore I choose, to write from the end. Stanzas stacked, likely not to comprehend
(Lest you choose to read from the end to here. Or both, for you have free will, my dear)

Your dear friend
The older, new me, most sincere
I’m typing it early, for this hemisphere
I hope this doesn’t reach you too late
The last we spoke, “is not” wasn’t “ain’t”
Do you still like to paint?
An emotional state of inclusivity
Your interpersonal, personality
An ephemeral state of relativity
Will be
The small that you were, and you are, and
Or plummeting down hill
From slowly ascending
Glad to see you still find a thrill
Lie
Yet the imagery of a heart, is a symmetrical
The muscular breakdown of a thigh
Similarly, the tension of a bicep
Our chest
Inside
How strange to know what a heart looks like
Stare
You’ve observed, despite being told not to tear
You’ve stretched knowing that you could
Omnipotence
Accepting a life in pursuit of infinite
Ignorance
My how you’ve found bliss, devoid of
Good evening, self

I have thought and thought about the old me , and honestly no matter how long I think or think of the old version, there’s no old version.I have watched myself and the younger me, and through it all, I have always faced obstacles and have always had to overcome from graduating early in school to your mechanic career, the younger me would say YEP you just got older but your drive GOT STRONGER, you never quit and at times Maybe you should have.You helped your family and Never backed down.GREAT JOB,IM PROUD of you.So in finishing, DON’T CHANGE, IM PROUD OF YOU

Do you remember me?
The girl you used to be, before, well… Everything I guess. I know you have blocked me out, and in a way I guess I don’t blame you, but from time to time I wish you would think about me.
Do you remember me?
I am quiet, kind, and spend a lot of time on my own. I wish you remembered that it’s not a bad thing to be alone. Not all company is good company, and if you aren’t content in your own presence, then why would you expect anyone else to be? I understand that your mind is a frightening place these days, but maybe running from the memories is part of what is making you hold onto them.
Do you remember me?
I am the girl that used to cry when I got in trouble, and I have an obsession with Barbie dolls. I wish you remembered how much I love to take care of them. You did the same thing with your daughters when you had them, and it would be better for them and you if you hadn’t worried so much about throwing your middle finger in the air at everyone for what they said about you as a mom as soon as you got a taste of rebellion and a bad attitude, and instead focused more on how you actually were as one. You really only proved them right in the end. For a while anyway.
Do you remember me?
I am dorky I guess. I go to plays with my Grandma, and play dress up with my cousins. Girls night with my friends are what I look forward to often. You wouldn’t know what that’s like anymore. You avoid Grandma because her dementia is getting worse and you know it’ll hurt less if you don’t see her much before she goes. Plus you couldn’t bear to see Papa like that. Nevermind the fact that family is probably the only thing holding him together. And girl friends? What the hell are those? You’ve given those up and replaced them with men. I wish you could spend a night with your best friend, sipping “happy tea,” and watching Anchorman, laughing so hard you cried. You might recall what it feels like to have a real kinship with someone that you don’t share a bed with.
Do you remember me?
I harbor innocence and imagination. The thought of even kissing the person that I like is enough to send shivers up my spine. I wish you would have slowed down in that area. I get it that things happened to you that made you bitter, scared, and angry. You didn’t have to be so easy though. No one will respect you if you don’t respect yourself. You aren’t a sex icon. You’re horny because you do drugs, and you became a hooker because you were poor and sick of living on the street. Just because you made a lot of money, it doesn’t restore your dignity.
Do you remember me?
I’m gentle and forgiving. Which is why even though I don’t understand what you’ve done, I still will forgive you. Someday. You’ve come this far, and you haven’t given up, so you should be proud of that. The world has become an ugly and evil place I guess, especially in the life you got wrapped up in.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I rushed you, and I’m sorry that I didn’t teach you to love yourself better. You may not have ended up in such a predicament. What do I know, though? I’m just a kid, and I’m only going off of the examples that have been set for me. It’s really crazy how we adopt the same behaviors that make us cringe when we are young. Anyway, I’m sorry that I didn’t give you the confidence in yourself to combat what was said about you with the girls, and I’m sorry that the me inside of you made you cower down when it came time to fight for them. It’s not over yet, and you have made a ton of strides in the right direction, but please, please remember. That everything you have worked so hard to build can be ripped away from you just as fast, if not faster. Don’t lose focus. And one last thing…. Don’t forget where you came from. Every now and again, if you could, just please try and think of me.

Style Score: 91%

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)

Dear Fear,
We have been friends for a long time, at least, I thought we were friends. As I
grew older, with experiences, craving the same ideas I have had since a child, I noticed
a pattern in your behavior. Whenever I aspire to accomplish anything, that is when you
show up with a list of filth that could go wrong. I noticed you have never offered anything
that could go right. Though some of your theories present themselves to be potentially
correct, there were some outcomes I have enjoyed that proved wrong. At first, you
blamed my environment and family. Although I agree I grew up in a city with a high
volume of crime, struggled with my family, and with scarce resources available to my
neighborhood you bonded to my bones like the frigid cold whenever I had thoughts of
becoming anything.
Disguising yourself as a form of protection, I discovered that you never had any
intentions of me facing anything. Do you remember that field trip in the second grade?
We went to a professional Theatre in a nearby neighborhood called the Karamu House.
There, we were in awe of a play we had seen, and that is when I felt that special feeling
for the very first time. It is not a word, it’s a sentence… You remember that feeling, don’t
you? The feeling that I can do it, too. You shifted all focus from me, shoving the
thoughts and ideas of others in my brain. Ignoring my strengths, maximizing my
weaknesses. I would spend most of my years taking your advice, when you had your
way, that’s when you left me alone most. You fueled everything negative in my life with
anxiety. I didn’t think I could pass the eighth grade, but I did. I didn’t think I would
graduate from the Fire Academy, but I did!

Instead of looking at things for what they are, you concentrate on the long
shadow the task casts. I know the craft took time to learn and studying and repetition
are utilized to be able to excel at some point, but you didn’t include all that. You
welcomed more problems. I do not wish to concentrate on those things anymore.
They’re getting in the way of me being efficient and trustworthy. It was to my surprise to
learn that the great Halle Berry, Bill Cobbs, and few others began their artistic journey at
the Karamu House honing their craft to become the amazing artists they are today!
Then, there came that feeling. It begins in your heart, fills it up with stars burning from
the inside out sending a sensation that takes you off the ground, and here you come
with all your gravity. As I grew taller, a bit wider, I noticed that you hadn’t changed, still
obese with old methods and ways of thinking became too heavy to carry around. You
showed up in areas in my lower back, poking me in my temple, burdening the back of
my neck. In some cases, you left me with no choice but to try, I needed to create more
space to breathe.
I took a chance and signed up for a few classes during college; there, I scored
my first play! You were there with me, too. I noticed your hypotheticals changed, but not
your thinking. Your list did not include what I could or couldn’t do; it involved if I would be
able to apply the techniques I’ve been taught. That revealed to me you noticed
something different about me, that I’m further from where we started. I met someone
new in those times of doubt and worry as I waited for my cues in the wing backstage.
Someone named Faith cheered everyone on, massaging the areas you made sore,
preparing me to go out and do the best I could. With faith, I don’t have to think so much
and with you, I would like to become acquaintances now to limit how much energy you
drain from me. I feel like you are necessary when I must cross the street or walk at
night. I have had the pleasure of working and meeting some great people in the
community, and developed into a fine artist, still learning to become better. I am thankful
for the opportunities I have been able to explore, one of them being in not one but two
productions held there, the place where it all began, the Karamu House. It was difficult
writing this letter, considering how you think, and I believe there are times you want the
best for me, but you lack being aware of keeping the best from me. You understand all
of it too well.

Sorry,