On a less serious note, here are a few prompts, plunnies, and ideas I wrote for anyone experiencing writer's block.

"i am satisfied with myself; i am gorgeous," i lie blatantly. 

through the mess of my cotton-white comforter, his hand finds my ankle and squeezes affectionately, as if to convey, 

you most certainly are

with the most simplest of gestures.

i am quite odd;

oftentimes, i prefer the effervescent embrace of sleep

to that of reality’s restrictive arms.

sometimes, when no one is listening to my silent cries for comfort,

i sink into the quietest stall, 

set my glasses on the cold linoleum,

tuck my head between my knees,

and remember, quite slowly, how to breathe. 

but i know that i am falling out of love,

and it is as unavoidable as the sky’s transition from pale blues

to a murky violet

i think it’s demeaning

to be subservient to someone so young,

when i have spent so much time growing up. 

laughter is my primary medicine.

when you come to me with red eyes, flushed cheeks,

swollen lips and you are just physically ing broken,

i pull out the most absurd things, 

say perfect little words to bring a slight cant to those dry lips.

I couldn't help myself. 

Those moments of rarity when he is gentle with me,

it’s like being pushed skyward in a tire swing;

my stomach is weightless with devilish butterflies

and I can’t help this goofy, equally-as-rare grin.

 

 

i am an insecure girl behind thick skin.

i don expensive underwear of bright hues and feminine patterns

wear my hair in ringlets that wade like beach sands

dab flowery scents behind my ears, wrists, inner elbows, further still ...

powdery blush on full cheeks; thick, black mascara on lashes that curl outward

i wonder silently, is this enough to impress you, as i scrutinize myself in the full length mirror,

feel those doubts creep into my flesh like gangly spider limbs.

 

 

used to fill my skin;

used to fit thick, white stretch marks

that branched over my hips like forest trees twisting, twirling skyward.

now, awkward juts of bone sit prominently on my waist;

it’s a struggle to even smile at my reflection anymore.

 

 

i miss waking up before the sun,

watching your lashes dance as you dreamt of pretty things

and girls filled with summer.

i liked to watch your lips tremble;

felt emboldened enough to reach up and touch

to see if they were as soft of the flower petals they resembled.

creepy, but so oddly entrancing to watch you swept away in the clouds of slumber.