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It's all about the prompts! Celebrating Self Love and Black History Month!

by Jessica M. Wilson

Happy Black History Month! We want to share and inspire you to share your Black Power and Black excellence poems and writings with us. We launched our Black Power! Poetry Prompt Calendar -- prompts inspired from amazing Black Poets and Artists from our creative community!

Catch a prompt each day, tag us, or email us your creations. All writing shared with us will be shared here on our blog and on our Instagram page.

We also want to celebrate SELF LOVE with you, and all the ways we are amazing and there for ourselves! We bring you prompts to explore and inspire you during the month of February. We launched our Self-Love Poetry Prompt Calendar -- prompts to explore and solidify the ways you can appreciate and nourish your self.

First of all, thank you for taking the time to read our prompts, engage with us, and be inspired to write. It takes courage and it feels great to write from your depths. We are here for you all to catch what you are serving!


Please enjoy the pieces shared with us, by these amazing writers, who took the prompts and discovered new creative beauty. All rights reserved to the writer.

Inspired by Self Love prompt:

"How I Hold Myself In Love” - Feb. 1 (Day 1)

How I Hold Myself In Love

By Vashti Carrion (c)2023

How I hold myself in Love

as my hands hold my chest

to form an X

from tic tac toe games of what if-s

or xoxoxo, which means

hugs and kisses,

as my mental health doctor

clicks his pen to write down,

my statements of self-love

a self-love language that society

translates into a bias-prejudice-stereotype-generalized language

in where he hand-writes in red ink

a statement of self-harm because

red ink

correcting my school term


red ink

a synonym to my teacher's

unemotional, rational, perspective

that says no to stars within a black hole

of a star-cluster mind,

the red ink,

from a mental health Ward

that corrects you to conform

to standardize tests, standardized society,

the red ink of my mental health doctor,

who missed the Love in where I hold myself with Love.

Inspired by Self Love prompt:

"How I Wake Up.” - Feb. 12 (Day 12)

Going the Distance

by Vickie Wippel (c)2023

Flushed from her run, Mallory was ready for her favorite part of the morning, her stretching routine, where she caught her breath and spent time searching all over her achy joints for spots of tightness—a mix of pleasure and pain; she loved these few moments of “me time” before commutes, meetings and other chores…Mallory’s skin felt soft and warm, and, yes, naked thanks to the quick shower (she was such dirty, dirty girl, and didn’t bother using her hamper, her sweaty running gear thrown in a heap nearby-- it did take some gentle tugging to remove her sports bra-- gently cupping her breasts helped relieve them from the elastic band, a movement so therapeutic, she continued it as the shower water ran over her), and now, drying off, Mallory checked her Garmin watch to note that her heart rate had not yet decreased; strange but not unheard of, so she lied down on her deluxe yoga mat, closed her eyes, taking deep breaths as she stretched, to ensure an ORH (optimal resting heartrate) of under 60 beats per minute…splayed out, her body aching with tension, Mallory began using her index and middle fingers to firmly press against the outside of her thighs, her quads were tighter than brand new compression socks, which was ok because Mallory was in no rush, focused instead on gently caressing herself as her fingers guided themselves up to her glutes, rock hard from all those miles run, my god she loved how they looked and felt, but, oh yes, her ass muscles yearned for a few minutes of her attention, which she gave before working her way towards the front—too many runners forget to stretch that soft, silky fold near their interior hamstrings—not Mallory-- she knew her hot, tight inner thighs needed her, and needed her now; Mallory reached for Glide anti-chaffing gel, a runner’s best friend, and began to knead the apex of her goddess-like legs like a gluten-free biscuit, sending ripples of pleasure right down to the tips of her calloused toes; another quick look at her watch-- her heartrate had actually increased--stretching could take more time Mallory thought, ohh yes that was the spot; she continued to glide her fingers, moving towards the mound of her eager clit (this was a full body massage)…her watch chimed; Mallory had just clocked five minutes of cardiovascular activity, burning twenty-five calories (and counting) as she moaned in satisfaction before realizing the massage gun in her night stand might help her reach those deep, hard-to-reach muscles and increase blood flow to her pelvic floor,…and so, despite her exhaustion, Mallory used her gun, vibrating with effort, to pound away at herself, and with each pulse, she thought of the Pavement Pounders, the all-women running group she’d grown quite attached to, in fact, she couldn’t stop thinking of their weekly post-run Jacuzzi meet-up’s at Natalie’s house, where their legs tangled like shoelaces underneath the jetted water; Mallory began making small, breathless gasps, not unlike her respiration rate at the end of sprint workouts, and, after one final release, brought her fingers back up over her torso before resting on her breasts, once again glistening with sweat, and, exhaling in satisfaction…ahhhh… Mallory was tickled with herself for taking the time so stretch when so many runners simply didn’t, causing serious risk of injury; Mallory went to her dresser and grabbed her black high-cut moisture-wicking runner’s panties and began dressing for the rest of the day; her workout was complete, although she might stretch again that night—it was such an important habit for athletes like herself.


More to come! Catch our writing prompts on our homepage - or follow us on Instagram @losangelespoetsociety


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