#whyiwrite — Public Fediverse posts
Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #whyiwrite, aggregated by home.social.
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To The Poem That Got Away
#Art #WhyIwrite #Writing #WritingAboutWriting #creation #Poetry
To the poem that got away,
I will find you.
And when I do,
I will catch you.
Word for word,
line by line,
I will address you
as one addresses an old friend
who forgot to leave an address.
For too long
you have run circles around my head
like a Tasmanian devil,
letting me kiss your dust,
taunting me with fragments,
dangling metaphors
just beyond my reach.
You slippery thing.
You arrive in the shower,
on crowded buses,
in the middle of conversations,
and disappear
the moment I reach for a pen.
You have made a sport of me.
But understand this—
I hold the future
of your destiny.
One day,
you will tire of running.
One day,
you will sit beside me
and tell me your name.
And I will write you.
Not as the mischievous villain
you pretend to be,
but as the cheerful light
of the words in my heart.
For despite all your hiding,
I know what you are:
not a fugitive,
but a poem
trying to teach me
the art of pursuit. -
To The Poem That Got Away
#Art #WhyIwrite #Writing #WritingAboutWriting #creation #Poetry
To the poem that got away,
I will find you.
And when I do,
I will catch you.
Word for word,
line by line,
I will address you
as one addresses an old friend
who forgot to leave an address.
For too long
you have run circles around my head
like a Tasmanian devil,
letting me kiss your dust,
taunting me with fragments,
dangling metaphors
just beyond my reach.
You slippery thing.
You arrive in the shower,
on crowded buses,
in the middle of conversations,
and disappear
the moment I reach for a pen.
You have made a sport of me.
But understand this—
I hold the future
of your destiny.
One day,
you will tire of running.
One day,
you will sit beside me
and tell me your name.
And I will write you.
Not as the mischievous villain
you pretend to be,
but as the cheerful light
of the words in my heart.
For despite all your hiding,
I know what you are:
not a fugitive,
but a poem
trying to teach me
the art of pursuit. -
When I was younger, I got some scars. Some were bad circumstances, others were bad choices. My readers are people who are also ‘scar-born’ – and I see it as a privilege to discuss how to rise up from our fractures into our futures.
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When I was younger, I got some scars. Some were bad circumstances, others were bad choices. My readers are people who are also ‘scar-born’ – and I see it as a privilege to discuss how to rise up from our fractures into our futures.
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What I Choose to Keep
I will not whisper #Growth #IfYouCanTSayItWriteIt #Inspiration #WhyIwrite #BreakingTheSilence #Poetry #speaking #strength #WritfullyTessie
I have known silence
in many forms.
As something that speaks.
As something that breaks.
As something passed down
without asking.
I have worn it
like a second skin—
soft in places,
tight in others.
I have seen it
hold love back,
turn warmth cold,
make strangers feel like home.
I have seen it
make monsters
out of men
who were only powerful
because no one spoke.
And still—
it stayed with me.
Not always as fear.
Not always as harm.
Sometimes
as breath.
As the space
before a truth
finds its courage.
As the quiet
that lets me hear myself
without interruption.
So I will not abandon it.
But I will not carry it
the way I was taught.
I will not let it
speak for me
when I have words.
I will not let it
protect what harms me.
I will not let it
be mistaken
for my consent.
I will choose it
only when it is mine.
Only when it heals.
Only when it holds.
Only when it listens
without taking.
And when I speak—
I will not whisper. -
What I Choose to Keep
I will not whisper #Growth #IfYouCanTSayItWriteIt #Inspiration #WhyIwrite #BreakingTheSilence #Poetry #speaking #strength #WritfullyTessie
I have known silence
in many forms.
As something that speaks.
As something that breaks.
As something passed down
without asking.
I have worn it
like a second skin—
soft in places,
tight in others.
I have seen it
hold love back,
turn warmth cold,
make strangers feel like home.
I have seen it
make monsters
out of men
who were only powerful
because no one spoke.
And still—
it stayed with me.
Not always as fear.
Not always as harm.
Sometimes
as breath.
As the space
before a truth
finds its courage.
As the quiet
that lets me hear myself
without interruption.
So I will not abandon it.
But I will not carry it
the way I was taught.
I will not let it
speak for me
when I have words.
I will not let it
protect what harms me.
I will not let it
be mistaken
for my consent.
I will choose it
only when it is mine.
Only when it heals.
Only when it holds.
Only when it listens
without taking.
And when I speak—
I will not whisper. -
THE WAGES OF SILENCE
#Hate #Loss #Pain #Reflection #TessieWrites #WhyIwrite #anger #BreakingTheSilence #hurt #Poetry #Power #rage #silence
He did not need to shout.
His voice was quiet—
the kind that lingers
long after the room is empty.
He spoke in warnings,
in looks,
in the space between
what was done
and what could be said.
And we learned quickly—
silence
was safer.
Or so it seemed.
Because silence
does not stay still.
It grows.
It wraps itself
around the throat,
settles in the chest,
teaches the body
how to keep quiet
even when it is breaking.
He walked freely
through our unsaid words,
unchallenged,
unseen—
made powerful
by what we carried
for him.
And I—
I held it too.
Like a secret
that did not belong to me.
Like a weight
I was told
was mine to bear.
Until I understood—
silence
is not always protection.
Sometimes,
it is the place
power hides.
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FLUENT IN SILENCE
Silence has many forms.
#Art #Growth #IfYouCanTSayItWriteIt #Introverts #Pain #Poem #Reflection #Saved #TessieWrites #TheWrittenStudios #WhyIwrite #Writing #BreakingTheSilence #brokenArt #ChangingTheNarrative #MentalHealthPositivity #Poetry #Power #purpose #Relationships #silence #TellingStories #VoicesForTheVoiceless #WritfullyTessie
Sometimes it protects.
Sometimes it connects.
Sometimes it carries what we are not ready to say.
And sometimes -it becomes the very thing that harms us.
This collection explores silence not as absence but as language.
A language learned, inherited, shared and,at times reclaimed.
These poems are not just about what is unsaid, but about what silence holds-love,fear, memory, power and choice.
-Nandipha Chibwe -
FLUENT IN SILENCE
Silence has many forms.
#Art #Growth #IfYouCanTSayItWriteIt #Introverts #Pain #Poem #Reflection #Saved #TessieWrites #TheWrittenStudios #WhyIwrite #Writing #BreakingTheSilence #brokenArt #ChangingTheNarrative #MentalHealthPositivity #Poetry #Power #purpose #Relationships #silence #TellingStories #VoicesForTheVoiceless #WritfullyTessie
Sometimes it protects.
Sometimes it connects.
Sometimes it carries what we are not ready to say.
And sometimes -it becomes the very thing that harms us.
This collection explores silence not as absence but as language.
A language learned, inherited, shared and,at times reclaimed.
These poems are not just about what is unsaid, but about what silence holds-love,fear, memory, power and choice.
-Nandipha Chibwe -
To The Writer That Was
Oh, how I yearn
to awaken the writer in me—
to breathe life into these hands
that once crafted symphonies.
To let the artist break free
from her formal shell,
to summon the summer breeze
and let creativity swell.
But now my rhymes are rusty,
my rhythm misplaced—
the artist within me
a distant, fading trace.
Stories still linger,
quiet and unsure,
but where is my melody?
Where is the voice I knew before?
Where is the writer
who once poured her soul
into every word,
into every whole?
Have you been locked away,
my dear friend,
silenced by a mind
that could not comprehend?
Have you lost your way,
or are you hiding
from the light?
I call out to you—
return to me.
For without you,
life feels muted,
a colorless sea.
I miss the worlds
we built with words,
the hearts we touched,
the truths we stirred.
Each line a dance,
each phrase alive—
a quiet place
where we could thrive.
So come back to me,
dear writer,
come back and stay—
and let us find ourselves again
in what we choose to say.Returning to a creative self after a hiatus is both exciting and daunting. This poem is a personal call to the writer within me and a reminder to all who paused their passions to awaken what has been dormant.
#WhyIwrite #passion #Poetry #purpose #WritfullyTessie -
Fleeting Beauty
There is beauty in the ephemeral,in the fleeting moments we often overlook.What a beauty it is
to behold a sunflower,
crafted with precision, so bold.
Intricately designed—
each seed, each grain
carefully arranged,
a testament to the Maker’s hand.
What a joy it is
to be a sunflower,
with petals so fine and fair,
lifting its face
to the morning sun,
finding warmth in golden air.
To smile as the day begins,
to follow the sun’s gentle spin.
But as the light fades
and evening draws near,
the sunflower bows its head—
humble, reverent, sincere.
Like us, it returns to the earth,
its beauty a fleeting gift,
fragile and rare.
Yet in its splendor,
we see the Maker’s art—
a masterpiece
both delicate and strong.
A rose is lovely, yes—
but a sunflower,
oh, that is a work of wonder.
A reminder
that we, too, are crafted
with precision, with care,
with love divine.
What a beautiful, tragic gift—
this life of ours,
so fleeting,
yet so profoundly designed.This poem reflects on how nature reminds us of divine craftsmanship in both the world and in ourselves.
#Art #EveningDevotionInsights #Newbeginnings #NewHabits #Spirituality #TessieWrites #TheWrittenStudios #WhyIwrite #Writing #Beautiful -
Fleeting Beauty
There is beauty in the ephemeral,in the fleeting moments we often overlook.What a beauty it is
to behold a sunflower,
crafted with precision, so bold.
Intricately designed—
each seed, each grain
carefully arranged,
a testament to the Maker’s hand.
What a joy it is
to be a sunflower,
with petals so fine and fair,
lifting its face
to the morning sun,
finding warmth in golden air.
To smile as the day begins,
to follow the sun’s gentle spin.
But as the light fades
and evening draws near,
the sunflower bows its head—
humble, reverent, sincere.
Like us, it returns to the earth,
its beauty a fleeting gift,
fragile and rare.
Yet in its splendor,
we see the Maker’s art—
a masterpiece
both delicate and strong.
A rose is lovely, yes—
but a sunflower,
oh, that is a work of wonder.
A reminder
that we, too, are crafted
with precision, with care,
with love divine.
What a beautiful, tragic gift—
this life of ours,
so fleeting,
yet so profoundly designed.This poem reflects on how nature reminds us of divine craftsmanship in both the world and in ourselves.
#Art #EveningDevotionInsights #Newbeginnings #NewHabits #Spirituality #TessieWrites #TheWrittenStudios #WhyIwrite #Writing #Beautiful -
I write because it connects me to others. Simple as that.
https://medium.com/evolution-of-consciousness/do-you-love-varied-reading-without-ads-e798be7b3800
#Writing #WhyIWrite #Medium #Community -
When I first published my book, my author, book editor, and friend Frances A. Sales said, “Once the book is out there, it’s no longer yours; it belongs to the readers.”
So, I wrote another novel, then another after that. I didn’t give much thought to book sales; I just wanted to create something beautiful for readers. Perhaps, I hoped, my book might even make them fall in love all over again.
#whyiwrite #writersofinstagram #writerslife #writingcommunity
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#WhyIWrite I started writing books for myself when I was a child because I had trouble finding books I wanted to read. Stories of boys and their dogs didn't interest me. And w/ 40 self-published books I'm still writing today. #NationalDayOnWriting
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More often than not, I can’t bring myself to criticize the right, because it’s so big, dumb, and obvious that I don’t see the point. So I concentrate on the minutia of the left in areas I think we can, and must, improve. I’m not MORE critical of the left, it’s just that I mostly dismiss the right out of hand. The left seems manageable and fixable, whereas the right does not.
If that makes any sense.
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I write because it's the best way I know to help the most people. #WhyIWrite #NationalDayOnWriting @[email protected]
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My thoughts have more power on the page than in my head, even if they're thoughts about lasagna. #WhyIWrite
