singpowrimo day 4: time capsule
prompt 1: write a poem addressed to your younger self, without using the word "I".
prompt 2: write a poem in which each stanza fits within a tweet (i.e. max 140 characters).
power bonus: combine the two prompts.
you are fourteen years old
and let me tell you this: you
are not a failure.
you will spend nights in the
blue-tiled bathroom, you with
your silver blade and underarms
lined with angry red dashes.
your body is a warzone and
every night is a battle: fingers
scr ab bling at your throat,
trying to rid yourself of
everything you know and love.
your lips are stitched together
with lies and pretenses: no
you are not eating low-fat
yoghurt because you love it.
no you are not returning rice
back to the pot because you are
simply not hungry. no you are
not fine, you are spending
night after
night after
night
staring at the ceiling and
feeling like your lungs are
about to burst.
but let me tell you this:
you are not a failure.
you are a survivor, a fighter.
you have spent countless hours
crying yourself to sleep but you
have also spent hundreds of days
telling yourself you can do it
you can do it you can do it
over and over again
so you won’t crack in class.
you do not know this yet but
you will learn to speak up for
yourself, you will love other
people the way you have never
loved yourself, you will make it.
so here you are at sixteen
and you have made it.
-
this one was really personal for me and i cried after i posted it because i've never shared this with such a huge group of people so publicly before. but it was sort of a catharsis for me (in the words of elly lmao) because i want to get over this part of my past but at the same time not bury it up like it's something for me to be ashamed of. it's important to me and i will not be ashamed of it because it made me who i am today. i am stronger now even though i still don't eat a lot of rice, i still have depressing thoughts from time to time, i still cry myself to sleep at night occasionally and i still have mental breakdowns in class. but i am definitely stronger. and i'm proud of my progress.
prompt 2: write a poem in which each stanza fits within a tweet (i.e. max 140 characters).
power bonus: combine the two prompts.
you are fourteen years old
and let me tell you this: you
are not a failure.
you will spend nights in the
blue-tiled bathroom, you with
your silver blade and underarms
lined with angry red dashes.
your body is a warzone and
every night is a battle: fingers
scr ab bling at your throat,
trying to rid yourself of
everything you know and love.
your lips are stitched together
with lies and pretenses: no
you are not eating low-fat
yoghurt because you love it.
no you are not returning rice
back to the pot because you are
simply not hungry. no you are
not fine, you are spending
night after
night after
night
staring at the ceiling and
feeling like your lungs are
about to burst.
but let me tell you this:
you are not a failure.
you are a survivor, a fighter.
you have spent countless hours
crying yourself to sleep but you
have also spent hundreds of days
telling yourself you can do it
you can do it you can do it
over and over again
so you won’t crack in class.
you do not know this yet but
you will learn to speak up for
yourself, you will love other
people the way you have never
loved yourself, you will make it.
so here you are at sixteen
and you have made it.
-
this one was really personal for me and i cried after i posted it because i've never shared this with such a huge group of people so publicly before. but it was sort of a catharsis for me (in the words of elly lmao) because i want to get over this part of my past but at the same time not bury it up like it's something for me to be ashamed of. it's important to me and i will not be ashamed of it because it made me who i am today. i am stronger now even though i still don't eat a lot of rice, i still have depressing thoughts from time to time, i still cry myself to sleep at night occasionally and i still have mental breakdowns in class. but i am definitely stronger. and i'm proud of my progress.