Archive of ‘writing workshop’ category

The Girl I Was. The Woman I Am.

The mirror, they say, never lies.
But for a long time, when I looked at its reflection,
I felt as if someone had died.

Someone so joyful, so happy, so free.
Who looked at the sky and thought,
man, it’s good to be me.

She never walked when she could skip,
never skipped when she could run.
Never bowed to conventions,
or let others ruin her fun.

She gloried in twirly, swirly skirts, ruffles and lace.
She had her head in the clouds,
and wore her emotions on her face.
She kept her nose in a book,
and her dreams? They were on public display.

But one day, a boy’s cruel laughter found its way in.
In past the joy,
in past the freedom,
all the way in.

He shredded her fantasies,
jeered at her dreams,
and for the first time,
she realized she couldn’t win.

That girl, she came down to earth that day.
She learned the world could hurt her,
Would hurt her,
Would shatter her soul.

She bundled herself up,
locked her dreams up tight.
She curled in on herself,
And never let anyone in without a fight.

But time, they say, heals even the worst wounds.
And that girl became a woman,
a lover, and eventually,
even a mother.

She found her voice,
and unfurled her wings.
She sharpened her talons
And learned how to scream.

She screamed and she screamed,
Freeing her rage, her fear and her pain.
She yelled until she was hoarse,
and let the wind carry it all away.

Then she looked down at her tiny daughter,
at her furrowed brow and grasping hands.
She soaked it all up,
absorbing the love, the wonder, and the joy.

The happiness she found lifted her up and up and up
until she was soaring through the sky,
laughter fizzing in her veins.

She made a promise that day,
a vow to make things right.
To recapture the girl she was,
and teach her daughter how to take flight.

Because the world, it can hurt you,
will hurt you, but that’s not the end.
And joy? It’s everywhere,
sometimes it’s just hiding around the bend.

So now, when I look in that mirror, do you know what I see?
A  woman.
A  lover.
And a damn fine mother.
Man, it’s good to me.

This post was written as part of Mama Kat’s Writing Workshop. The prompt I chose? Write a poem about who you are, or who you are not. But I honestly don’t know where this came from. It surprised even me. I won’t pretend it’s the best poem ever written, but it seems to have bubbled up staight from my soul…so, I guess I’ll go ahead and post it.

Now head on over there and see what everyone else did with this week’s prompts!

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall.

It’s time for Mama Kat’s Writing Workshop again. This week, the prompt I chose was, “when I look in the mirror…” I don’t know why it ended up being a sketch again, but it did. So here we go:

REFLECTION: Why are you glaring at me like that?

ME: Because I don’t like you very much.

REFLECTION: Again? We’re having this conversation again?

ME: What do you mean, again?

REFLECTION: For the last 33 years, it’s been nothing but, “why can’t you be thinner, why is your belly so poochy, why are you so short, why, why, why…” It’s enough to give a girl a complex.

ME: I haven’t always hated you.

REFLECTION: Name one time you liked what you saw.

ME: What about back in my 20’s, when I was a size 6?

REFLECTION: You wanted to be a size 4.

ME: That’s not true. Remember that string bikini? You looked darn good in that bikini.

REFLECTION: Yeah, but your face was broken out. That was all you could see.

ME: When I was pregnant, I liked you then.

REFLECTION: Wrong. You spent the whole time worrying about how fat you were getting.

ME: Well… I was right. I did gain too much weight. Look at you now.

REFLECTION: You know what? I’ve had enough. I’m going on strike.

ME: You can’t go on strike. You’re my reflection!

REFLECTION: Watch me. I’m walking out of this mirror, and I’m not coming back until you say something nice about me.

ME: That’s impossible.

Reflection starts to leave.

ME: Hey, wait! Come back.

REFLECTION: (Over her shoulder) I meant what I said. I’m going to go back to bed, and I’m staying there until you learn to appreciate me.

ME: But people will think I’m a vampire. 

REFLECTION: That’s your problem, not mine.

ME: (Pounding on empty mirror). That’s not fair! You little bitch, get back here!

REFLECTION: Mmmm, it’s mighty comfy in here.

ME: Please?

REFLECTION: Sure am glad I got these bamboo sheets. They’re nice and soft.

ME: Come on. I really do love you…

Reflection pops her head back in.

REFLECTION: What? What was that you just said?

ME: I love you.


ME: Because you’re strong, and you’re beautiful, and you’re capable of amazing things. It’s just….

REFLECTION: (Sighing) It’s just what?

ME: Nothing. It’s nothing. You’re an amazing woman, just as you are. And in a few months, after I lose this baby weight, you’ll be even more amazing.

REFLECTION: So you’ll cut the crap?

ME: Yes. No more name calling.

REFLECTION: You promise? Because that’s verbal abuse, you know. I could call the police.

ME: No you can’t. You’re my reflection. You don’t have real hands.

REFLECTION: Do you want me to leave again?

ME: No, no. Hey, I know how I can make it up to you. Let’s go shopping. I’ll buy you something pretty.

REFLECTION: Okay, we’ll go shopping. But no dressing room tantrums, or I’ll make you buy foundation undergarments.

ME: (shudders) A girdle? No, thank you. I’ll be good, I promise.

REFLECTION: Deal. Ann Taylor, here we come… better bring the credit card.

But the Grass. It’s a Different Shade of Green.

It’s time for Mama Kat’s Writing Workshop again. This week, I’m imagining a conversation between these two people:

B: How can you not see what I’m talking about? It’s right here. In front of your face!

A: So there’s a weed. So what?

B: So what? So our lawn is being taken over, that’s what!

A: I don’t see what the problem is. It’s green. It’s not crunchy when you step on it. It’s doing the same job grass does.

B: Do you know how hard I’ve worked to get some decent grass in this yard?

A: And you’ve done a very good job. But Mother Nature, she has plans of her own.

B: We’re going to be the laughingstock of the neighborhood!

A: (Bends down and plucks weed). There. No more weed. Feel better?

B: Argh! No! You didn’t get it by the root! Now it’s just going to come back and, and spread!

A: (Sighs) Fine. You can go to Lowe’s and buy the $50 bag of weed killer. But if I ever see you out here with scissors trimming uneven spots, I’m going to stage an intervention.

B: But sometimes it just looks so sloppy…

A: Scissors. Equal. Intervention. End of story.

B: Fine… But don’t come crying to me when the Homeowner’s Association comes after us for bringing down the tenor of the neighborhood.

A: Don’t worry. I won’t.

Author’s Note (covering ass): No, this conversation didn’t actually happen. But my husband does have an unhealthy obsession with the lawn, so it could…

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