#glopowrimo 2024 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wheatfieldspoet · 28 days

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as isaac, on the walk home

please, won’t you look at me, father? i can’t erase the memory of the surrender in your eyes if i keep staring at your back.

you held my hand as we climbed the mountain. i felt your pulse through my palm, your grip tight against the sweat. God has called us, you said with urgency, yet you took your time as we ascended.

i can’t remember what i feared more: the blade, the flame, or the aftermath.

who would have made the bigger sacrifice if there was no ram in the thicket— you? me?

or mother?

is there no test of faith more agonizing than to forgive?

but even in my final breath, i would have. i love you even though i may never understand it, if only you would tell me. i don’t ask for much—

father! please. soothe my shivering. i’m afraid the next time i see a knife i might think it’s love.

— Jade A.

escapril day 3: eye contact

@adventurerswritingguild day 3: hand / god / knife

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nwpoetariel · 3 days

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the void

the void my muscles are heavy with need. i whisper into the voidstill too quiet for you to avoidall i want is for you to walk into my poemlet to swirl and whirl around youperhaps sneak into your earwork its way into your subconscious then one day you will start to randomlythink about meand love then connect the twoand with a thundering shoutyou will run back to me your muscles heavy with…

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pattricias · 13 days

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a weekend in a somewhat colder place

Whenever it’s hot out, I think about my childhood home. Manila is always unbearable, but in the summer it’s worse than Catholic Hell. So whenever the Holy Week would come, we would go to snobbish, faraway churches with airconditioning and pretend we’re above the hell most people live with. In Manila, I lived with people who wanted to keep breathing expensive air. In Manila, I lived in a series of…

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#glopowrimo #glopowrimo 2024 #musings #napowrimo #napowrimo 2024 #personal #personal poetry #personal writing #poem #poetry #thoughts #writing #writing as a coping mechanism #writing as exploration

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jasminesuntrell · 11 days

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No More Fucking Butterflies (19/30)

I have decided the next man I meet who makes me nervous is getting blocked, walked away from- I'll run if I have to. No conversation, no glances, no more whirlwind romances, I'm not giving chances. I'm through.

Who the hell decided butterflies in the tummy was something to romanticize in the first place? For me, I think it's my body trying to tell me to get as far as I can from this demonic creature who will only cause me harm but I kept thinking it's a good thing if his presence can make me stumble over words.

Hell no.

Neutrality is the way to go. The man you're mostly unaware of until he gives you good reasons to be. The one who doesn’t prey on the unbalanced chemical reaction that happens when you lay eyes on him.

And maybe the love story won't be the stuff of an indie romance film but it will be stable and real. It won't give you more material from which to heal. It will provide you with bliss more enduring than the intoxications of fleeting butterflies.

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writinginnorthnorfolk · 6 days

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Seven

Seven linen shirts spun from nettles and sewn with blistered fingers.Seven white wings thrumming overhead, returning from winter wastes. Seven brothers searching for a blistered sister.Kim M. Russell, 25th April 2024 Image from Birmingham Museums Trust on Unsplash On the 25th day of Na/GloPoWriMo, I have no idea what the prompt is at NaPoWriMo as I’m away from home, and off-prompt with a fairy…

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#Day twenty-four #Hans Christian Andersen #Na/GloPoWriMo #NaPoWriMo #Seven #The Wild Swans

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wheatfieldspoet · 29 days

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angels are real, mine lives in chicago

when people ask how i survived 3 years in a graveyard shift, i tell them it’s because i have friends on the other side.

i threw a line out the sea and ended up being found, your tug on the invisible string pulling everything into place.

more than half a day away, but time stands still for us enough to fit years of stories in the palms of our hands.

even if we’ve only shared smiles from afar, your wings cross oceans to carry your laugh to me.

when i make it to you, you’ll give me a place to rest, tangible to match the astral one you’ve already granted.

distance and time zones are nothing at all when i carry you in my pocket, guardian dear.

now, like sun and moon, we trade waking hours. still, i fall asleep holding your goodnight text-shaped hand.

— Jade A.

escapril day 2: change of state

napowrimo.net day 2: write a platonic love poem

for @darlingwendy

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wheatfieldspoet · 29 days

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are we there yet?

how long does it take to go from a state of grief to a state of grace? there’s no map but i’ve crossed enough borders to reach somewhere else— wherever this is.

sometimes the sun shines bright enough for me to forget, but in the rearview i find the shadow still follows, its hand waving.

maybe one day, i’ll be brave enough to invite it in. after all, healing is a dirt road and grief is love’s hitchhiking passenger— i’ll save it a seat. we’ll get there together.

— Jade A.

escapril day 1: change of state

@adventurerswritingguild day 1: peace

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wheatfieldspoet · 7 days

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can’t believe i let you

touch me gentler in the mornings half-lidded and not-quite-there looking at me like a dream

hold me like i was something you wanted to keep, but not someone you were afraid to lose

apologize for not being what i want when i wanted you anyway— and you knew damn well

treat me like a quick fix, drink me up to enjoy your company until the high wore off

fixate too much on your own despair, and fantasies of your death someday, to appreciate the life in front of you

spoil what was supposed to be fun, leaving me sick and sour, almost stealing my sweetness

become a learned-the-hard-way reminder to take men at their word when they tell me i deserve better

— Jade A.

escapril day 19: a reminder:

@adventurerswritingguild day 19: sour & trying

@skylerwitherspoon day 19: Where is your rage directed at right now? Write a poem speaking directly to that.

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wheatfieldspoet · 18 days

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holding my heaven

my boy i look at you & want to cry you light my life with the sun & sky in your eyes

make me atlas when i hold you in my arms though i can’t carry you around except in my heart

cumulus fluff soft as cotton warm as a hearth you are sunshine even though you love puddles

— Jade A.

escapril day 12: oh, the light!

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wheatfieldspoet · 17 days

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a martyr’s grudge

i have this dream about an alternate universe where we both get what we want, and i know it’s the bad ending because neither of us deserve it. i’ve seen what happens when selfish people get what they want and it’s never good. yes, we’re selfish, though don’t have to tell you that— you were self-aware enough to ask— maybe only retract when i said you weren’t. every apology you sent was warranted, but my forgiveness for your sins was given unsparingly. i’ve martyred myself plenty enough times for you and that’s what makes me selfish: thinking in my naiveté that the sinner could love a martyr, that the martyr could bleed love if it suffered at the hands of the sinner, that the sinner would have enough guilt that it would turn into love. really, we’re both sinners, but my blood on your hands makes me the better one out of us both. scars deserve sympathy, after all. and what good is all this suffering without the reward in the end? i’ll lick my wounds, get off my own martyrdom, love what you couldn’t, wouldn’t, didn’t.

— Jade A.

escapril day 14: a recurring dream

@adventurerswritingguild day 14: naiveté

@skylerwitherspoon day 14: Write a poem about a grudge you're holding.

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wheatfieldspoet · 14 days

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regret in retrospect

looks like i got the clarity i wanted, after the goodbye can’t believe a part of me wanted to wait for your love when now i can’t imagine a part of you was ever capable

so embarrassing, to have dreams of you & tell you of them as if my desire would make you want me more as if you deserved any part of my mind, body, soul

my heart was in my throat, i could barely keep it down in every way but literal, i bent over backwards for you convincing myself the sick in my stomach was butterflies

to your credit, you warned you might be wrong for me but that didn’t seem to stop you either, deliberately choosing words to pull me into your black hole gravity

thank god for my pride, strong enough to stop my fall we all make mistakes, but i’ll chalk mine up to experience good riddance, i’ll keep my regrets only in retrospect

— Jade A.

escapril day 16: so embarrassing…

@adventurerswritingguild day 16: in every way but literal

@skylerwitherspoon day 16: Write a poem inspired by the line “Every day we wake up and try to forget our dreams.”

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wheatfieldspoet · 25 days

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love letter in my childhood shower

i loved you at thirteen so i think i’ll love you forever. though i’ll never look, i wonder where you are now; it feels like only yesterday i held you in my hands, my most formative songs inside my favorite color.

i’m sure my bathroom walls prefer your familiar sounds. i choose throwback music for my shower soundtrack and the muscle-memorized acoustics bounce around like me and my bands are the best they’ve ever heard.

the origin of the word nostalgia is homesickness, but i still feel it in the childhood home i’ve never left, in the mirror that’s seen me in all my shapes and colors, in the same shower i’ve stood and cried in since 2002.

these walls have been witness to my womanhood, which is my girlhood, only taller, fuller, and a little tired. i turn on the tap of my fountain of youth, and the rush sounds just like a cheering audience, waiting for me to sing.

escapril day 6: a childhood memory

@adventurerswritingguild day 6: etymology

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wheatfieldspoet · 4 days

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wishful thinking

yield to excitement and euphoria: create stories out of a situation, connect the dots of the stars like a map with a destination.

it is a risk to have faith in things unseen in the hope of something tender; yielding the fruit of hard-yearned labor is a quiet yet complete surrender.

in your suspension of disbelief, let desire conquer the leveled-head, forgetting that soon may follow the lonely longing doubt and dread.

but who is the true victor when one is conquered by delusion? ignorance is bliss, they say— perhaps blind faith is the solution.

— Jade A.

escapril day 22: desire

@adventurerswritingguild day 22: yielding VS conquering

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wheatfieldspoet · 20 days

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requiem to a monster

two things can be true: i can never unmake the monster i was forced to be— starved of choice, the sins and blood of my past have left their stains, immortal as my damned soul; abandoned by every savior, without a god who deemed my pain worthy of an intervention.

i thought that my only truth, incapable of change with no future of my own— until i found other ways to survive, and reasons to: i want to live, to love, to learn the meaning of the words; to ascend— my way, to be more than what broke me; to walk in the light, with those i trust beside me.

i will live for myself, with no master to tell me what i am. i have been redeemed without the divine by being given the gift of choice. and while my hunger still threatens so be sated, nothing has ever tasted as good as my freedom.

— Jade A.

escapril day 8: what's the truth?

@skylerwitherspoon day 8: Write a poem about redemption.

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wheatfieldspoet · 11 hours

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shared cells

if you opened up my heart, you would see how much of me

is made of you. but the pen is stronger than the scalpel;

when this hereditary ink bleeds, will your crimes then become mine?

— Jade A.

escapril day 28: surgery

napowrimo.net day 28: Write a sijo, a traditional Korean verse form of 3 lines with 14-16 syllables each.

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wheatfieldspoet · 2 days

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live wire finds rest

my mom always said i was wired differently different or weird she said there was no need for a doctor to tell her what she already knew plus maybe it’s just exercise i need to exorcise the demons that keep me up ‘til after midnight so we leave my electrified brain undecoded for decades until i find others like me either already in tune or familiar with this circuitry how there can be no rest until we’ve reached our absolute limit of brain power per hour ‘til we’ve hit the crest of our daily self-defined usefulness to make up for idle unworked hands shocking! to find live wires just like me so now i am not so unique after all and what a relief to be able to hold hands with another mind firing on all cylinders until it’s safe to unplug and we can breathe as we sit in our fumes

— Jade A.

escapril day 27: the absolute limit

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