#glopowrimo 2023

[wheatfieldspoet]

grief, in doses

denial

i think we could have saved you.

anger

they said you hadn’t had an appetite for ten days. ten days. and they didn’t think to call, didn’t think that their pride and stubborn belief in conspiracy should be immaterial in this moment. they just let you sit in your chair and let you fade. i gritted my teeth through the revelation of this sorrowful mystery, biting back the urge to tell them they don’t deserve to cry. they let this happen. they can keep their fucking ivermectin, i want my Lola back.

bargaining

can we go back? please, i had no idea how short the time was. i’m not asking for much, only one more walk—you don’t even have to say anything. just let me lead you down the stairs, one hand on the rail and the other in mine; let me feel the shifting weight of your aliveness before you step foot into your black car. let me have one more embrace to breathe in the scent of your perfume. let me keep your lipstick stain on my cheek. let me say goodbye, but not before giving me the chance to plead for Him not to take you yet. not yet. i’d ask for not ever, but i know that’s impossible, so please—not yet.

depression

when the weight of remembering comes, all i can do is cry. but i’ll choose to overdose on memory any day, to carry everything with me because i’m afraid i’ll forget where i put them down. the color purple, violet, but also garnet. butterflies. poker chips. the queen of hearts. banana rebosado. chocolate cake. ube. durian. a tin can of crackers, a letter opener next to it. the sound of a grandfather clock. “bésame mucho” on the magicsing. rings with large stones that never fit my fingers right but you let me play with them anyway. your hands, always soft. an eyebrow pencil for that time you realized you filled only one brow in, but not until after we were walking around the mall, one of your arches brown and the other grayed. you were graceful in your embarrassment—even if you could never look less than beautiful. i laughed about this with mom recently, and we both burst into tears after the first ha.

anger

i’m ashamed to share a bloodline with some of the men in our family. they survived wars and revolutions but couldn’t bear to plan your memorial. so they left it all to your youngest daughter and i had to be the one to tell my own mother she didn’t have to be strong. i had to feel her break in my arms.

denial

things that don’t make sense: to talk about you in the past tense; to say only Lolo and not Lolo-and-Lola; to see you in pictures and realize we can never take another; that your jewelry and perfume bottles and makeup are exactly as you left them on your dresser; that your perfectly paired blouses and satin camisoles are still hanging in your closet; that one day your things will no longer smell like you.

depression

i remember how it brought you joy to watch me sing and dance; there’s plenty documentation of this on old film, your laughter and applause underscoring the britney spears. you never knew it, but there was a time i was terrified to sing at family events—but i would for you. “moon river” was a song i learned from you. dad played the guitar and i sang to you the whole time. you kept your eyes on me, smiling as you sang the words back. just for me. that night, i made a playlist of songs i could sing with you the next time i got a chance. i didn’t get one. but somewhere in between your novena days, i found the garageband file where you, Lolo, mom, and i sang “somethin’ stupid” for one of your anniversaries. i isolated our vocals together and wept for an hour.

bargaining

can i visit you past the veil and keep no promises? if i am told to walk ahead and not look back, i will give a non-committal nod, knowing full well i love you too much to lose that chance. i’m sorry for all the time i took for granted. i hadn’t even thought there would be a last one.

denial

i am a child again and i am walking with you hand in hand in a field of butterflies. they float above our heads, creating a halo around yours. i giggle in wonder—so pretty!—and name every color i see and can feel the fondness through the warmth of your squeeze. you loosen your hold and nudge me forward gently, telling me to chase them. my delight rings through the air as i skip through the grass. then i think: this is a moment i should be sharing with you. i turn around, only to find a flock of purplewings where you once stood. i reach out my hands to catch one, but they flutter away in a burst.

acceptance

i wake up.

— jade a.

escapril day 10: drug of choice

bonus prompt - @darlingwendy: The Kubler-Ross model, or the five stages of grief, is often thought of as a linear experience. The reality is much different. Playing with a non-linear narrative, write a poem that grieves.

#escapril #escapril 2023 #napowrimo #napowrimo 2023 #glopowrimo #glopowrimo 2023 #poetry #poem #spilled ink #mine #mine: poem #adventurerswrite #grief #grief poem #tw grief

[mabhsavage]

NaPoWriMo Day 24: Angels

Angel in my heart Messenger Winged and covered in eyes A wheel A chariot A burning fire Fear not Be not afraid I mean Have you seen yourself.

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#angels #GloPoWriMo #GloPoWriMo 2023 #napowrimo #NaPoWriMo 2023 #poem #poems #Poet #poetry #poets #religion #spirituality #writing

[peakogreen]

inner flex

—

feeling out of place

happiness is

but a taste

I was mediocre in everything I wrote

but I can be content in my growth

I can

exercise patience,

build the strength to listen,

sculpt this disposition,

turn gratitude

to muscle memory

.•.peako green•.•

#escapril #escapril 2023 #napowrimo #napowrimo2023 #glopowrimo #original poetry #original poem #poetry #art #poetrycommunity #writingcommunity #poem #love #creative writing #creativewriting #writing inspo #writinginspo #poets on tumblr #poems on tumblr #poems #original

[writeallywrite]

NaPoWriMo 2023: Day 1 (Without death)

Today’s prompt: Poets, Start Your Engines And here’s our own prompt (optional, as always) for the first day of Na/GloPoWriMo. They say you can’t judge a book by its cover, but they never said you can’t try to write a poem based on a book cover — and that’s your challenge for today!  Crimson, blood, dripping, splatting,Staining a piece of white cloth,Like a scene of a murder,Without a…

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#blogging #Malaysia #NaPoWriMo #Poem #Poetry #Writing

[wheatfieldspoet]

good girl syndrome

the thing about growing up a good girl is that i don’t know how to be anything else without knowing who i should impress.

i might as well make an audience out of everyone, but it is impossible to please them all even as i exhaust myself juggling my scripts and roles.

sometimes i feel like existence is attention and the approval of others is proof i am doing something good enough with my life.

but in a discord room on that first lockdown halloween, strangers cheered for “never have i ever” and this poor little good girl had an anxiety attack.

they never tell you how effortless it is: sinking into shame. what do i have to show for being good? the admission that i was 25 and had never really lived?

sometimes i wish i had given into a little more peer pressure, so i too could laugh about mistakes like they were scars from youth with stories to tell.

but despite the time that has passed, it is not too late for a coming-of-age; to define my own right and wrong with a little less fear, needing no one else’s applause.

slowly, i am learning that existence is not performance, and that maybe not everything has to be a story, and that a good life is the one i am living for me.

— jade a.

escapril day 4: attention

#escapril #escapril 2023 #napowrimo #napowrimo 2023 #glopowrimo #glopowrimo 2023 #poetry #poem #spilled ink #mine #mine: poem #adventurerswrite

[wheatfieldspoet]

House Snake

after Mary Oliver

You need to be free to decide. You need to have the choice to lie on your back, unmoving and frozen and unashamed. You do not need to deny yourself the humanity of resenting what has hurt you. You can withhold your mercy as they withheld theirs. Somewhere the void has closed in on itself. Somewhere the moon and the sudden storm of drought have stilled the once-flowing water, beneath the mountains and cityscapes, the rice fields and the sand. Somewhere the house snake, low in the dirt of its cage, seeks to escape at every opportunity. You may have been nobody, but because you are loved, let the void no longer ground you to despair, hiss to you like the house snake, subtle yet unnerving— here, a private milestone of your liberation from the confines of abandonment.

— jade a.

escapril day 3: a bit of advice

napowrimo day 3: Find a shortish poem that you like, and rewrite each line, replacing each word (or as many words as you can) with words that mean the opposite. — Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

#escapril #escapril 2023 #napowrimo #napowrimo 2023 #glopowrimo #glopowrimo 2023 #poetry #poem #spilled ink #mine #mine: poem #mary oliver #mary oliver inspired #adventurerswrite

[wheatfieldspoet]

CHATGPT IS NOT A POET

how dare anyone say you are capable of creation. you are called artificial for a reason—truth will never be something you are able to grasp.

it is easy enough to rhyme, to create catchy & snappy lines, but that is not always poetry as much as it is advertising.

tell me, bot: do you grieve? celebrate? what is friendship? what is childhood? describe to me your deepest hurt. write about how it feels to bleed.

there is no need for you to heal from wounds that could never exist: no family that forgets to love you, no lover that mistreats you.

intelligence cannot measure the weight of living. what do you know of choice— to grant forgiveness, or seek revenge; to believe in hope, or sink into despair?

the human experience can neither be mass produced nor portioned. how do you bundle falling in & out of love, sell vulnerability, discount nostalgia?

there is no hill for you to die on; for you, there is no death no life no grief no joy no fear no love no pain no relief no longing, only 1s & 0s that counterfeit emotion.

of course you’re useful. but at the end of the world, if only you remain, you will feel no loss; no desire for creation to make up for the nothingness.

— jade a.

escapril day 12: artificial intelligence

#escapril #escapril 2023 #napowrimo #napowrimo 2023 #glopowrimo #glopowrimo 2023 #poetry #poem #spilled ink #mine #mine: poem #adventurerswrite #artificial intelligence #ai discourse #chatgpt

[wheatfieldspoet]

stanza 24

i. it was the bravest i’d ever been: there, in your car, i fed you a french fry and told you i loved you.

if it weren’t for the beeps behind us we might have just stayed there, flushed and quietly blaming any other source of red.

you turned your eyes back to the road but i noticed your teeth, kissed green. it’s funny how a windshield in traffic can have the same effect as stained glass.

the city lights danced on your face like a kaleidoscope while my thoughts raced with the cars outside. i couldn’t decide if i wanted this drive to end or last forever.

too soon, we parked outside my house; with the engine off, it was far too quiet until you reached for my hand and whispered you, too.

you leaned in; i met you halfway and felt what love was like for the first time.

ii. ten years later, i still think about what might have been if i hadn’t done a halfway confession.

i waited until i was home, one foot in the door (i love you but—) and ready to run (—i don’t know if i’m in love with you).

but i was the only one who didn’t know, and now i still don’t know what it’s like to say or be told i’m in love with you.

i know i wasted the chance that night; we called each other friend and hugged but you kissed my cheek before i let you drive away.

— jade a.

escapril day 6: if i told you, you’d go mad

@poetryorchard day 6: “everyone ___ me except for ___”

bonus prompt - @darlingwendy: Write a two part poem: the alternate ending, and the truth.

#escapril #escapril 2023 #napowrimo #napowrimo 2023 #glopowrimo #glopowrimo 2023 #poetry #poem #spilled ink #mine #mine: poem #adventurerswrite

[wheatfieldspoet]

because i am your daughter

“The most beautiful part of your body is wherever your mother’s shadow falls.” — Ocean Vuong

i rarely heard people say we looked alike until i grew into my pretty. always on the other side of the immigration lineup, i was convinced our likeness was scarce.

when i am compared to you, i ask for them to list the ways. at least half of me is you; all of me, i learned from you. we are alike in some ways i don’t want to admit.

it’s said that daughters look at their mothers and see what they do not want to become. in adolescent angst, i swore it— but in truth, there was too much of you i loved.

you are the first person i ever admired and that will never go away. your shadow cast a spotlight under which i learned to perform; i am not sure i know how to simply be.

there are things we do not have to talk about, but i wonder: do you regret that i did not become the vision you had while you were creating me?

my crowning brought the end of your youth and changed you to mother, forever. i know there are parts of me now you do not recognize—can you love them, too?

i love you forever, i’ll like you for always and i am sorry for everything. we have both said i love yous in place of apologies.

sometimes i wish i never knew how much you bled for me; that you would do it again in a heartbeat, even without my asking— even without my gratitude, you would.

i’m sorry, mom. i lie to you because i am your daughter; there are pieces of me i must hide in case you cannot love them.

i don’t love anyone else the way i love you. there is no one’s judgment i want to hear less of, and no one’s approval i am more desperate for.

maybe someday i’ll finally grow up and won’t need you as much as i still do. but i was you before i became me, and you are my home before any other.

mom, it is hard to be without you. but on days when your shadow is far, i cast my own against the sun and feel you in the warmth on my face.

— jade a.

escapril day 14: a miniature

@poetryorchard day 14: “who am i without you?”

bonus prompt - @darlingwendy: An epigraph is “a quotation from another literary work that is placed beneath the title at the beginning of a poem or section of a poem.” It gives a reader something else to hold in mind as the poem is read. Today, pick a quote from a favorite poem to use as an epigraph.

#escapril #escapril 2023 #napowrimo #napowrimo 2023 #glopowrimo #glopowrimo 2023 #poetry #poem #spilled ink #mine #mine: poem #adventurerswrite #mothers #ocean vuong

[wheatfieldspoet]

litany of the yearning heart

“Love, for you, is larger than the usual romantic love. It’s like a religion. It’s terrifying.” — Richard Siken

God, i know i’m patient but i don’t know for how much longer. why is it not enough to want things and put in the work? i’m ready now—and i want all of it.

i’m talking about love, of course. give me all the cheese, the instagram posts with overdone one-liners or full-length novels as captions. i want every reason to smile, because everything reminds me of them.

love is a choice and i have always wondered what it must be like to be loved on purpose, for someone to find me and say: you—it’s you i want. i am choosing to love you. i wish being loved was as easy as loving.

this is not to say i fall in love easily—if only it came easier to me. i don’t know how to love without being transformed or consumed. as a child, i was taught that love is forever; i wish i was told that it was hard, too.

i understand all of the advice, i just don’t think it applies to me. love yourself—they say, and i do—the way you love others—listen! i know no other way than this. i only ever love one way: completely, and the way i want to be loved.

maybe that’s the problem: i want to be all-in in love—including the bad days. the disappointments and apologies; the surprises and tears, whichever kind. to have something promised.

even if it ends up broken. i want to fuck up and have to make up for it, to have someone other than myself to be better for. i don’t want it to just mean something—i want it to be everything.

and i do mean everything: healing and hurting, better or worse, etcetera. it’s already been said so many ways. i know what i’m asking for, God— i’ve been asking. so when shall i receive?

— jade a.

escapril day 17: the horror!

bonus prompt - @adventurerswritingguild: Create a piece exploring the overwhelming, all-consuming desire of being chosen.

#escapril #escapril 2023 #napowrimo #napowrimo 2023 #glopowrimo #glopowrimo 2023 #adventurerswrite #poetry #poem #mine: poem #mine #richard siken #richard siken inspired

[wheatfieldspoet]

grief’s gravity

after Emily Dickinson

the bustle and breath in a house half-empty the morning after meaning is lost past death’s door is the solemnest of sounds.

out the window, the world still spins. the earth enacts its natural forces, flippant against grief’s gravity, as if loss has not just made less of life.

we sweep up the swollen heart, heavy with the weight of a love for what no longer lives. we preserve it in poetry, precious and uniquely theirs, until we unite in eternity.

— jade a.

escapril day 22: out the window

napowrimo day 22: Find an Emily Dickinson poem and take out all the dashes and line breaks. Make it just one big block of prose. Now, rebreak the lines. Add words where you want. Take out some words. Make your own poem out of it!

#escapril #escapril 2023 #napowrimo #napowrimo 2023 #glopowrimo #glopowrimo 2023 #poem #poetry #spilled ink #mine #mine: poem #emily dickinson #adventurerswrite

[wheatfieldspoet]

the stars, embroidered with your love

after Joy Priest and BTS

when i see stars in the night sky, i think of 7 boys surrounded by cellphone lights in an immense city stadium so far from home, singing in their mother language but speaking a borrowed one. i had been right there with them, through a laptop screen an ocean away.

it is 2018. i am just about to turn 24 and i’m trying to survive my quarter-life crisis. i’d never felt more lost in the world, never felt so disconnected from who i was. i watch kim namjoon, the leader, a boy my age, talk about love with his hand on his chest.

in front of 40 thousand people, and millions more watching around the world, he confesses to a lack of love for the self, something he thought he would need to work on until the day he died. and then came our love: a phenomenon that defined a new era.

it is a gross disservice to think that BTS is merely a cog in the system or fodder for a teenage girl’s blush. what simple pandering would expose the cracks in a mirror of loathing, record the trials and errors of patience, chronicle the mangled stages of recovery?

it is not easy to grow up— what more when you have an audience— but because i had witnessed them heal the inner child that was once buried, bring the young ghosts back to life all through love, i knew that i could, too.

much time has passed since then. the universe has expanded; the stars are farther apart. the fire in me has gone from wild in a forest to a wick in a cozy room. but love transcends distance and goes beyond measure. it keeps things alive.

— jade a.

escapril day 13: blush

@poetryorchard day 13: young ghosts

bonus prompt - pw.org: Inspired by Joy Priest’s poem When I See Stars in the Night Sky, write an ode to your favorite musician placing them in a specific moment in time.

additional footnotes below!

the title is a translated lyric from BTS’ song with coldplay, “my universe”

here is a quote from the moment that inspired the poem, for additional context:

“Through this ‘Love Yourself’ tour, I’m finding how to love myself. I didn’t know anything about loving myself, but you guys taught me—through your eyes, through your love, through your tweets, through your letters, through your everything. You guys taught me and inspired me how to love myself. And loving myself is my whole life goal until my death. And you know, what is loving myself? What is loving yourself? I don’t know. Who can define their own method and way of loving myself? It’s our mission to find our way to love ourselves.

It’s never intended, but it feels like I’m using you guys to love myself. So I want to say one thing: Please use me. Please use BTS to love yourselves. Because you taught me how to love myself every day.”

— Kim Namjoon of BTS Citi Field, New York 6 October 2018

#escapril #escapril 2023 #napowrimo #napowrimo 2023 #glopowrimo #glopowrimo 2023 #poetry #poem #spilled ink #mine #mine: poem #adventurerswrite #bts #army #bts army #bangtan

[wheatfieldspoet]

breaking up with anxiety

i know you love times like these: when you’re all i hear, loud and ringing and incessant, electrifying my every synapse like an alarm every time a worry appears. you magnify my vision and spike my eyes with tears until i see foggy mountains instead of just passing storm clouds. i feel you in my stomach, heavy, until you rise to tighten my chest and constrict my throat. monsters under the bed are nothing compared to being haunted by you. you erase my memory until everything i know is you. there is no comfort in knowing i cannot control you—but there is power in finding peace, in choosing myself. so i will listen to the gentle sounds outside. i will watch the sky change and let the rain fall. i will exhale what i have been holding in. i will let tomorrow be tomorrow and allow myself tonight a well-deserved sleep.

— jade a.

escapril day 8: synapse

@poetryorchard day 8: under the bed...

#escapril #escapril 2023 #napowrimo #napowrimo 2023 #glopowrimo #glopowrimo 2023 #poetry #poem #spilled ink #mine #mine: poem #adventurerswrite

[wheatfieldspoet]

best friends forever

after Wendy Cope

this afternoon i saw some friends; we got dinner and watched a movie. we laughed throughout both the meal and film, then stopped at the arcade for spontaneous karaoke.

walking around arm-in-arm with them feels like how it was always meant to be: friends forever hanging out in malls, something i trace back to elementary.

though all life’s changes, i hold them dear: friends who’ve stayed through every plot twist. no words can capture what you mean to me. i love you. i’m glad we still exist.

— jade a.

escapril day 21: an average day

@poetryorchard day 21: meant to be

#escapril #escapril 2023 #napowrimo #napowrimo 2023 #glopowrimo #glopowrimo 2023 #poem #poetry #spilled ink #mine #mine: poem #wendy cope #adventurerswrite

[wheatfieldspoet]

i write because i would like to be used for years after my death

after Eileen Myles

existence often keeps me up at night. or rather, the idea of existence fading. the afterlife aside, maybe the bigger question is: what happens when life ends but evidence of existence remains?

i have a thing about being remembered, and for remembering. an odd worry of mine is that when i meet someone again after changing my hair, they might not recognize me—as if bangs or a change in length or color transforms me like a girl on the run from her identity. on the other hand, i’m not the best with names, but sometimes i’ll remember the first time we met in vivid detail: where we were, what the sky looked like, the color of your t-shirt.

growing up, i dreamed of fame, but all i wanted was for my voice to be heard by people who would understand. when my friends let me talk as much as i want to, they make me feel like i’m their favorite radio station.

there are still things i keep to myself. i am a talker that never planned on being a writer, but i guess that’s what happens when you have so much to say but you’re too afraid to speak it out loud. i have written for years in notebooks, notes apps, and on the internet, immortalizing every bit of love, every bit of hurt, every bit of longing, every bit of resentment… so far. i still, always, have more to say.

there’s a reason why my favorite texts are the ones like this made me think of you, why i cherish wordless photos that speak a thousand inside jokes, why my phone’s storage is always on the brink of overcapacity.

i am saying: memory makes me a collector; not everything can be saved, but anything can be treasured. i am saying: leftovers have a tendency to waste, so let me give as much as i have while i’m still alive. i am saying: i would like to be of use even when i’m not around. i am saying: i would like to be kept, fondly, until there is nothing left to remember.

— jade a.

escapril day 20: radio

@poetryorchard day 20: __ keeps me up at night

bonus prompt - @darlingwendy: Take a line from Eileen Myles’s poem Peanut Butter to use as a title.

#escapril #escapril 2023 #napowrimo #napowrimo 2023 #glopowrimo #glopowrimo 2023 #poetry #poem #spilled ink #mine #mine: poem #adventurerswrite

[wheatfieldspoet]

as a tumblr user once said: “for my next trick, i’ll break my own heart by exaggerating my place in other people’s lives”

is it wise to continue this, knowing the risk of hurt? i have so much to give—would you let me? if i gave you the key to my heart, would you take it? you have become muscle memory; am i habit or convenience?

i have so much to give—why don’t you want more? what do you expect me to say when you tell me you’re lonely? you are my muscle memory; am i just your convenient habit? can i mythologize you while i wait for a better time?

when you say you’re lonely, could you handle my response? would you unlock my heart or would you return the key? have i wasted time trying to mythologize something better? will continuing this only heighten the risk of my hurt?

— jade a.

escapril day 19: muscle memory

@poetryorchard day 19: i can’t mythologize you

bonus prompt - Rachel McKibbens Writing Exercise #29: Write a pantoum poem made up of questions.

#escapril #escapril 2023 #napowrimo #napowrimo 2023 #glopowrimo #glopowrimo 2023 #poetry #poem #spilled ink #mine #mine: poem #rachel mckibbens #adventurerswrite