The first writing prompt that I stumbled upon was actually, coincidentally: New Beginnings. Fitting.

I am sitting here drinking my chai stressing about everything in the world. Like I said, I have lost my purpose. I don't know who I am or what I want, but I know I can accomplish great things if I set my mind to it. I read New Beginnings and clicked out of that page, onto another '365 writing prompts' articles. But that really stood out to me. Far from a piece of poetry or literary genius, my first piece of writing will be a list of goals, big to little, personal to the mediocre. How many can I tick off before the days run out.

(Don't judge me. I've been lost for a little while, very sick, and am only now realising that I need to get back on my feet and in control of my life.)

• Get a fucking JOB! You need that money to survive, and besides, all your shit got stolen a few weeks ago so you really need cash to replace all of the makeup and clothing. 
• Sell your belongings you don't want. Honestly, it's not that hard to post shit on depop. Get on it. It's sitting around anyway, and the extra cash can't hurt.... 
• Which leads me to this, money I owe. Possibly a large sum, possibly a private matter. Pay it the fuck back . By the end of this year!
• Figure out what you want to do. Do you want to write full time? If so, write. Get published, you can't dream about writing and not do anything about it. Do you want to be a policewoman? a birth doula? Figure it out, try new things.
• Take up a hobby! Do exercise! Remember when your parents always nagged you about taking up extra activities, it was for good reason. Try TWO new things and stick at it. Even when it's hard. 
• Lose weight, only a little. And preferably before Summer. 
• Become a better person, read, talk, listen. Be there for people. Try to be the best version of yourself.
• Save for a holiday, all by YOURSELF. No parents, and obviously this comes after paying off all of the debt. 
• Go to the dentist. Easier said than done. Maybe you can also save for dental fees and actually get everything fixed.
• Take care of your health, eat well, get regular blood tests, take vitamins if need be. Look after your skin, swim in the ocean, move every day. etc. 
• Write everyday. Lol. 
• Graduate university. 
• Buy a new laptop.

Might come back and touch up and update this occasionally seeing as I can do that, because it's my blog. I won't delete anything, will just add things if I think of them. This time round I need to wish MYSELF luck. Looks like it's going to be the craziest year of my life, and potentially the most rewarding and wholesome. 

I have decided to undertake a challenge. I find myself getting lost in my own life, feeling like I'm being carried out into the ocean with no control over where the tide takes me. But I want to get some of the power back, maybe call on the moon for a few favours. I am always the most scared, uncertain and depressed in my own life when I don't have a meaning, when I don't have a purpose.


So, I created my own purpose. A challenge. I am going to write something (anything) for the next 365 days. I'm not sure why, or how, or what it will be about, but it will give me something to work on, keep my creative side flowing and help me become a better writer - I hope.

This is my new goal and for once in my damn life I want to stick to it. I want to finish something. I will start off using online prompts for writing pieces and if I get more confident or have my own ideas I shall publish those pieces as well. Today is the 13th of September 2018, and by next year, I will have 365 pieces of writing published here on my blog.

Wish me all the bloody luck in the world.

L.

on being wholesome

feeling and being wholesome is one of my main concerns in my day to day life, i always worry i am not doing enough, being productive enough, listening to my soul enough, etc. etc. we are constantly told to 'NOURISH' our bodies, and do what is best. but what is that?

i often have days where i'm not bored necessarily, but there is something missing. i have plenty to do, but i feel like i should be doing something else, something more beneficial to my life on the whole. do you ever feel like this? because i often do. am i lacking in meaning ? is there a purpose to my day to day activities? how do i make my time on earth feel more fulfilling? these are all big questions.

and i feel like it all comes down to one word: wholesome.

i feel like we all strive for this magical abstract concept to some extent, whether it be living life to your full potential, having enough money to buy things to 'help' make you feel wholesome, doing exercise, starting diets, and you know the drill. but is it more simple than that? can we narrow it down to lists and activities and food and just ~being~ in a way that makes you feel overall, more wholesome?

let's try. 

do not : call him

you're sipping on the taste of his tongue through the ice cold water 

you hold fragile like liquid

crystal in a hollow cup and its

-4 outside but all you can feel is the heat behind your eyelids as your skin crackles

papery soft whispering to your cheek to 

calm down 

and you make note of the holes in your mouth and the

cavities in your chest and the gaps between your thighs where

he stubbed you out like a cigarette

and everything is warm warm warm even though when you breathe

(if you are even breathing)

there is a cloud of white that 

evaporates into the air

and it burns burns burns in your stomach like the acid is taking a trip 

up

your throat and barefoot and naked you lay curled

upon the grass in your front yard willing strangers

to watch you moon bake

and the taste of his hair litters your pillows and you wish you didn’t

have a name that he could have ruined

like your bed

at 4am one summer morning 

and all the people in the street 

heard it 

not as a name, but as a 

prayer

and your mother sits you down at the table and makes 

you tea and you sip it softly until it too, is cold

when your hipbones dig into the mattress at night, 

when the trees bend and dance into each other, 

when the man at the petrol station looks like

him, 

when the shower water is steaming upon your skin, 

do not call him 

dreaming of: extra sleepy days, muted tones, soft light, a good book, nice company, rain, sleep

/grime/

the dust covered the pavement like the fine layer of grime

upon his skin that you could smell

days after letting him touch you

and you wash         

                                    scrub       

                                                       scrub

                                    wash

                                                      repeat

but you still reek like his greasy hair

the sweat that

                                    dripped

off his forehead

onto

your lips

you place your foot right over the cracks because

you want to break your mother’s back

her face 

                                    hands

                                                      mind

that told you,

you deserved this

salty lips and sandy feet and you crawl into the bottom bunk after

swimming naked

milk

skin 

aquamarine glimmers in the

waves

and he places his body between you and the light so that

all you can see is the dark human like figure instead of

one hand around your throat

one between your legs

you’re trying not to cry

and like a broken record you say,

(but you think he heard it like a plea to keep going)

afterwards you’re sitting in the leather backseat of a car and

you can feel the tears are finally coming but you don’t let them

a pool

of water

reflecting a rainbow made of

oil

sharp bones dig into the sheets at night and you lather

vanilla

cinnamon

tangerine

scents onto your skin

but your pillows and ribcage still

stink of him

sweetheart

                                                                                                            honey bun

                                    sexy

                                                                        darling

the words reverberate against the sky

the windows shatter as the voices fade out leaving

you barefoot and lost on wet asphalt somewhere around the start

of june

the next time a boy touches you

you curl your body like a mantis and he asks why you’re

shivering

                                                                        (it’s not cold)

but it’s so cold here in my body

always so

 R A I N  D A Y  

Got your hair all done up 
Like a woman again 
Got a feeling of gaze 
At the doorway again 

I feel alone for you 
I feel alive with you 
I feel a sin fading