Category: NaPoWriMo

30 days, 30 poems.
Not all of them came easily, but they all lived inside my head.

Truthfully, this was my first NaPoWriMo. At some point, as with every challenge, I lost a bit of momentum. But I kept going. I pushed through. And to be honest, some of these poems turned out to be very great.

Thank you for reading along. I do wonder… did any of the poems stand out for you?

Anyway, thirty days, thirty poems. My words are yours now, to feel, to hold, to interpret. They are where they belong.

Thank you for being here with me every day of April.

Fear not, I will continue writing. Maybe not quite as much, but you know me.
I am made of words.

Thank you.

💜❤️✨❤️💜

Naked words on paper
Ashes of what I could not say
Pieces of heart, fragile and raw
Open wounds stitched with ink
Waves of longing, waves of light
Real or not, it’s all imagined
I write because I must
My breath caught between the lines
One poem closer to becoming myself

There is a silence
that does not ache.

A quiet that does not ask
to be filled.

It stays beside me,
soft as breath,
warm as a hand resting
without need.

And I
I am no longer waiting
to be whole.

Waves pull, fall, return
thoughts drift like salt on my tongue
never still, never.

I ache
in every place
your hands have not touched.

Mouth open,
skin warm,
I dream of your tongue
where words cannot go.

There is no soft way
to say what I need from you.
I want you deep
inside the places
I hide even from myself.

Don’t ask.
Ruin me gently.
Make me say yes
without a single word.

I have two minds
and neither is mine.
Two halves of me
and they are yours.

On my knees
I look at you.
Is this the end of me
or the beginning
of who I became.

Two wholes in me
and they are yours.
I lost two dreams
and neither was mine.

His body breaks under the weight of being my hero.
Pieces of him scattered across the carpet,
one forgotten under the bed.
He came undone by my hands,
and I don’t have the threads to stitch his soul back together.

I watch him bleed into the seams of the room,
his warmth fading, staining the silence.
I gather what I can:
a shard of his smile, the curve of his back,
but nothing fits.

I tell myself it wasn’t my fault.
I tell myself lies sweeter than truth.
But my fingerprints are all over him.

He asked me not to make him more than he was.
I crowned him anyway
and broke him when he could not hold it.

Now all that remains is his name,
caught in the hollow where he once stood.

It’s not loud, it is steady.
It’s not a performance, it is real.
It’s not a scream, it is a whisper.
It’s not a mask, it is a mirror.

It’s not longing, it is being.
It’s not conquest, it is care.
It’s not thunder, it is rainfall.
It’s not demand, it is grace.

It’s not a blaze, it is ember.
It’s not a cage, it is freedom.
It’s not a race, it is space.
It’s not a question, it is knowing.

It’s not a shadow, it is light.
It’s not a promise, it is presence.
It’s not lost, it is found.
It’s not the end, it is right.

The streets are lined
with blurred lights
and burning skies.
They send me on my way
no questions, no goodbyes.

I follow where the night unfolds,
barefoot heart, wide-open eyes.
Greet me when I arrive
if arrival comes at all.

Every turn, a maybe.
Every breath, a song.
Destination unknown
but I am already gone.

I slip into borrowed skins
Of fractured ghosts and bitter girls
Not every I is me
But every word is mine
Close
closer now
I swallow their pain
Paint their shadows with brittle nails
And still
Not every I is me
But every word is mine
I create fantasies of broken hearts
Dancing in storms I never felt
Close
Closer now
The truth remains
Not every I is me
But every word is mine.

I don’t know where to look without fading away
I could drown and disappear
Maybe I’d feel better
But I swim and I fly and I run
Until I find myself in still waters
Standing on a stone
Breathing out, breathing in
Memories are dripping out of my eyes
Is it regret or is it fear
Maybe someday I’ll feel better
My feet are raw and my soul is exposed
I am a weightless whisper
Invisible. Iridescent.
A cloud in the sky
No one. Every one.
A storm you will never forget.

I’m not always measured.
Not in the way people think.
I try to be.
But there are days I burn too quickly,
or speak too much,
or not enough.
I shift, I bend,
I carry things I don’t name.

Some moments ask for care.
And I give it.
Even when my thoughts are louder
than my voice.
Even when I want to say more
but choose to hold back.
Not out of fear,
but because silence keeps me steady.

My writing looks calm.
There’s structure, rhythm,
sometimes even grace.
But in the spaces,
there’s a quiet kind of screaming.
A truth I don’t always say out loud.

There are parts of me
I choose not to share.
Not out of secrecy—
but because they feel better
when left untouched.
Quiet things.
Steady things.
Mine.

So no.
I’m not always measured.
But I’m aware.
I know when something shifts.
And even when I slip,
I find my way back.
Every time.
And I am not giving up either part of me.

Leave me in this storm.
If the clouds kiss me,
I’ll let the rain cleanse what remains.
Ssshh,
say nothing.
Leave me in this storm.
I am becoming the rainbow.

You don’t get to break
what I bled to piece back together.
Yes,
we all do damage.
Even when we mean to heal,
we leave fingerprints in the cracks.
Some hands destroy without touching.
Others tremble just to hold.

Can we let go of
time
or does it hold us
by the throat
softly
like a lover
or a lie

Can we turn back
time
not the clocks
but the silence
before a scream
the weight
before the fall

Just one
moment
Just one
decision
and the blood
runs a different way

Inhale
Exhale
and still
nothing bends
nothing breaks
nothing changes

The world turns
and we pretend
we are fine
We close our eyes
and drift
not to sleep
but to absence

Time does not make
everything okay
It only makes
everything
fade.