Prompt: The Ghost of You

I see in you the pain she holds.

The unbearable thought of not being what we need.

Could I even recognize you.

If you appeared as an outline of us.

As a ghost in my dreams.

Who you used to be, traces the outlines of your eyes.

Fades into therapy sessions on the past.

The ghost of you when you're stressed and overwhelmed.

Your emotions taking hold.

Ghost of you shoved deep.

Until your stomach aches and your head pounds.

The ghost of you hides in books and sleep.

I feel like I carry the wounds of her with me but am not sure how to heal.

I can feel her shadow when you hug me, an apology lingering on the too long of squeeze.

Why can’t I seem to let go, of the ghost of you.

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Prompt: The Monster Behind the Mask

For 12 months we tried to fight the cloth tied over our face Begging to be free, pleading for control back of our spaces When the days brought flowers again, the hope rose The belief was that normalcy would return We untied, dismantled, and tore off our masks Jubilated to feel free of this grasp Instead, what was found was both desolate and perplexing Normal had nowhere to go Except back into our purposeless pit The place that held who we believed we were and wanted to be Normal began to feel more like a fraud than a foundation Yes, our breathe could flow in and out of our inlet But still felt imprisoned in our cavity, so tight Relationship was rigid and stiff Both with ourselves and fellow peers Our feelings and tempers rioting inside Blurting out our inadequacies far and wide After 2 short moons It was recommended to tie that cloth back to our faces Which we did in most places A feeling of ease at this cumbersome task To keep the monster behind our mask

Lilac Sidewalk

Same Sidewalk. As Yesterday. It catches you by surprise. But today. They are here. Either smell or sight and you are called out. Silky petals. Our female elders peeking out with their violet irises The smell, oh the smell. It swirls in your chest trying to coat your lungs, for just a little bit longer. Same Sidewalk. As Yesterday. You see the crispy. The sun held them just a little bit too long. Close enough, the smell sits still. But the drops have drifted. Toasted and broiled. It’s gone so fast. Sad and True. I mourn for those that missed it. For those that will forget. Same Sidewalk. As Yesterday. Their abode remains season to season. Empty and forgotten Their graceful presence is now a brief memory. Every now and again, I remember what was once. And what will be again.

Prompt: The Dust of Old Bones

I am realizing that when given a prompt, I want to write anything and everything that comes to mind. I am beginning to explore prompts and this one is from a SLC Group called "Salty Scribblers" Deep in her closet a box lies, the dust has spread over the top and seeped to the sides. It has moved with her again and again, though only receives a hesitant glance now and then. But sometimes In her dreams she skips to it, excited to rummage through and release the treasures inside. As she peeks in, she sees distant memories, fervent feelings, and amusement of all kinds. A Pink and worn Teddy Bear with arms open and a rainbow kite, ripped and bright. A Snowman sits at the bottom, still frosty and needing a nose. The scraped knees and rain puddles remind her of play. Some nights she takes one or two out and lays them on her sleeping self, testing the fit. The beliefs are the hardest to fit. Her parents know all and her sister protects no matter her own monster wall. When she kne

Be Gentle With Yourself

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