Becky Curl

Joined December 2020

0 stories

Bio

Freelance Writer. Freelance Make-Up Artist. Teacher. Wig & Make-Up Designer. Coffee, dogs & pop-punk are my life.

Stories (18/0)

Old Photos & Reflections
Trigger Warning: Eating Disorders and Body Dysmorphia I do not know who I am anymore. The woman in these photos is someone I knew once.
By Becky Curlabout a year ago in Poets
Learning How To Feel Again
Some nights, I choose to do my dishes without wearing any gloves. Though I know my hands will not thank me for this choice later, I know that sometimes, this is the best thing that I could do for myself.
By Becky Curlabout a year ago in Poets
Bitterness & Trust
I bit into an apple that I thought was still fresh. I thought I had more time to enjoy it. My teeth sank into the core— Rotten.
By Becky Curlabout a year ago in Poets
What I Am Searching For
What I am searching for, They already have. There are no vacancies here. Yet, I am always coming up empty. I like to write about how society tries to force us all into one box and how we should fight that with everything we have.
By Becky Curlabout a year ago in Poets
It's One of Those Nights.
It’s one of those nights. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror. I cannot meet my own eyes. I can’t face the truth. I cannot bear witness to this face.
By Becky Curlabout a year ago in Poets
Disappear
I want to disappear into this cup of coffee. I want it to swallow me whole. I want the heat to spread through my body, penetrate my bones, and bring me the relief that I have always been so desperately searching for.
By Becky Curlabout a year ago in Poets
Getting Burned By The American Dream
I want to bake an apple pie, and eat the whole goddamn thing. There were never enough slices of the American Dream for everyone.
By Becky Curlabout a year ago in Poets
Tell Me.
Tell me what it’s like to be a rainbow and have all of your colors shine so brightly, And I’ll tell you what it’s like to be a hurricane, constantly drowning everything you love in your own pain.
By Becky Curlabout a year ago in Poets
A Portrait of My Trauma
My trauma looks like a tall man with eyes that could pierce right through you. My trauma looks like a bottle of wine I never wanted to be empty.
By Becky Curlabout a year ago in Poets
My Last Night of College
TW: sexual assault & intimate partner violence We cannot erase and replace the things that have happened to us with what we wished would have happened instead. You cannot go back; you can only move forward. It happened, and there is nothing you can do to change that now. You can only change how you move forward and heal.
By Becky Curlabout a year ago in Psyche
The Way The Darkness Settles In
I wish I could stop the darkness from settling in each evening. I wish as the sun went down, my guard did not go up. While the world switches its light from on to off, it is like my brain does the same within. As soon as the night settles in, I am unsettled. I am unraveling. I am slowly coming undone.
By Becky Curlabout a year ago in Poets
What Flying Feels Like
The sound of the wind chimes blowing in the breeze. The way the water twists through the ravine; running endlessly, without ever looking back.
By Becky Curlabout a year ago in Poets

Becky Curl

Bio

Stories .css-19zxm0z-Text{display:inline-block;color:var(--text-default-mute);}(18/0)

Old Photos & Reflections

Learning How To Feel Again

Bitterness & Trust

What I Am Searching For

It's One of Those Nights.

Disappear

Getting Burned By The American Dream

Tell Me.

A Portrait of My Trauma

My Last Night of College

The Way The Darkness Settles In

What Flying Feels Like

Stories (18/0)