indelible-calling

[indelible-calling]

This February we’re celebrating femininity in all its varied forms with Femme February here at the Prompt Foundry.

From traditionally feminine roles and motifs, to widely shared experiences of girlhood, to those whose flavor of femininity or womanhood is outside traditional expectations of who and what that’s supposed to look like—let’s revel in it all!

Show us your tomboys and femboys, your madonnas and whores. Run wild with all things pink, or meditate on why diamonds are a girl’s best friend.

Feel free to combine different days’ prompts with each other, or combine them with other events! Use your favorite characters from media, make some OCs, give us some academic analysis, make art that’s all vibes, whatever tickles your fancy. Just keep in mind that the Foundry is an explicitly queer-friendly space and exclusionism will not be tolerated.

If you use this list, please tag me here @thepromptfoundry, I’d love to see your writing and art!

Respond to as many prompts as you want or as interest you, don’t worry about missing or skipping any. Remember, this is supposed to be fun!

If you have any questions or musings, check our FAQ, and if you don’t find your answer, shoot me an ask.

Plain text list below the cut:

1 Weird Little Girls 2 All Things Pink 3 Makeup 4 “Just” a Housewife 5 The Domestic Sphere 6 Folk Medicine 7 Mother Nature 8 Matriarchs 9 Mama Bear 10 Shopping 11 Getting Dressed Together 12 Twirly Skirts 13 Choosing Femininity 14 Girly Boys 15 Tomboys 16 Slumber Parties 17 Ballet 18 Starlets 19 Harlots 20 Diamonds 21 Princesses 22 Sewing and Weaving 23 Schoolmarms 24 Nurses 25 Flowers 26 Merry Widows 27 Femme Fatales 28 Fight Like a Girl

[indelible-calling]

In Mourning

I don’t mourn you.

Even as I write the words, I still don’t quite believe them. 

I don’t mourn you, instead, I mourn the part of me that knew you before. I mourn the girl who idolized you and the girl who never hesitated to pick up the moment your face popped up on her phone. I mourn the girl who cried with you at your lowest and the girl who wore her heart without fear of your anger. That girl could have once told you how horrible of a human you had become without the concern that you would destroy a piece of her soul.

You may not see it any more, but that girl grew up because she wanted to be strong like you.

I mourn the girl who used to stay up until 3am on the weekends, laughing.

Her laughter used to come from the heart until tears fell from her eyes haphazardly; now, that girl speaks with hesitation and apology, and questions herself, plenty.

I mourn for the girl who watches in horror as the world turns around her. You were her anchor, her lighthouse; the one person who she held steadfast despite encouragement to cut ties. I may not find pain in your words after witnessing the way you so easily praise the words of hate but she does. She sees how you agree with the ideology of her rights being stripped away one by one and how you parrot the lies of a false prophet meant to lead you into despair. 

I mourn for her loss.

I mourn for her brother, for once he was seen as her hero.

You hadn’t been her family by blood, but you were her family by choice and that meant everything to her as you both grew as people. You were the one she came out to, first. You told her it would be okay when others made her feel that it wasn’t and in less than ten years, you became the very man she needed to be afraid of.

I mourn for the girl that cried with him at the loss of a friend’s pregnancy, and then the friend herself. It’s that memory she holds that contradicts what follows your words these days, how you spread discussions of reproductive rights although you could have lost the woman you loved if it weren’t for the laws in your state. How you feel it shouldn’t be allowed, that no exceptions matter and that a woman should keep her legs closed - even if you once said that it was only her right to choose, and that anyone else can get fucked.

Every day, that girl can feel the pull of despair as the man she once knew dissolves away to become an unhinged stranger. You stopped one fix to find another, and although the hit is different, she’s witnessing another type of unraveling and I mourn for the way her tears cease to exist as a numbness takes priority to keep her heart whole.

I watched as that girl lost her brother to the ideology of a raving manipulative con artist and I mourn for the part of her that she has to let go of him for her own sanity. I mourn for their connection and their friendship, and the trust that once sat between them. 

I mourn for the girl who lost her brother, but the girl who won’t lose herself, too. I mourn for that girl because she is me, and you are no longer you.