Letting go Without Bitterness (a reflective poem)

I thought letting go
would require me
to become something colder.

Sharper.
Less feeling.
Less open.

I thought peace
would look like indifference—
like forgetting,
like closing every door
with force strong enough
to erase the sound of its closing.

But that is not what happened.

Instead,
I became lighter.

Not emptied—
but unburdened.

There is a difference
I did not understand at first.

Because I still remember.

I remember the names,
the faces,
the versions of people
I once tried to hold together
with my own hands
when they were already slipping away.

But memory
is no longer a place I live inside.

It is just a place I can visit
without getting lost there.

And that is the shift
no one warns you about—

when pain stops being
your residence
and becomes
just part of your history.

I am no longer asking
why I was not chosen
by rooms I once tried to belong to.

I am no longer bargaining
with silence
or translating absence
into something I can fix.

I do not carry bitterness
because bitterness requires
continued attachment.

And I am finally learning
how to release
without turning it into poison.

There is freedom
in no longer auditioning
for love.

In no longer proving
your worth
to people committed
to misunderstanding you.

In walking away
without needing them
to understand
why you left.

I am not hardened.

I am not closed.

I am simply no longer
available
to what diminishes me.

And that,
quietly,
is where peace begins.

—

#Growth #IfYouCanTSayItWriteIt #Reconstruction #Reflection #TessieWrites #TheWrittenStudios #lettingGo #Poetry

Love on Ice

We began like flint against stone—sharp glances, reluctant curiosity,two young strangers circling
the quiet offense of being exactly what the other could not ignore.

You wore distance like armor,and I matched it with careful indifference,though something in me already recognized the shape of you.

We thawed in fragments—through borrowed pages,half-finished sketches,arguments sharpened by brilliance,and dreams spoken softly as  though naming them might make them fragile.

You were challenge and comfort.
The rare equal who could quiet my storms without extinguishing them.

The only place I ever let myself soften without shame.

And when truth threatened to bloom between us—that dangerous, trembling thing—we buried it quickly,covering sparks with the safer language
of friendship.

Platonic.
Simple.
Safe.

Though my heart had already betrayed me.

So I stayed—loving you quietly,
from corners you never thought to search.

I watched you reach for others,watched your hands learn unfamiliar warmth,while I became
the steady place you returned to when those borrowed fires turned cold.

And I let you.

Because losing myself felt easier than losing you.

We built our world from shared passions, stitched together through ambition,creativity,
and the reckless certainty that we understood each other better than anyone else could.

But time,with its subtle cruelty,
began to widen what closeness once concealed.

Still, I stood beside you
through grief,through failure,through every season that threatened to unmake you.

And when my own silence arrived—when loss hollowed me out in ways I could not name,
when the parts of me that once burned brightly
fell quiet—you were there.

But not enough.

Not in the way I had once been there for you.

That was how the fracture came.

Not with violence,but with realization.

The unbearable clarity that I could carry your storms,but mine were met with distance.

So now we are this:

Two people who once felt like inevitability,now reduced to careful memory.

Two souls who mistook familiarity for permanence.

And I no longer grieve loudly.

Only softly—
like winter remembering
what warmth used to feel like.

—

#Growth #RelationshipsVersusFriendship #TessieWrites #acceptance #heartbreak #LifeNLiving #Relationships

The Peace of Letting Go (a reflection)

There comes a quiet kind of peace that does not announce itself with celebration,but settles—softly, steadily—into the space where chaos used to live.

It arrives after the reaching stops.After the explanations,
the overthinking,
the rehearsing of conversations
that were never going to change their ending.

After you finally understand
that some relationships do not fail loudly—
they simply stop meeting you
where you are.

And in that understanding,
something unexpected happens.

You return to yourself.

Not the version of you
shaped by approval,
or softened by neglect,
or stretched thin
to remain convenient.

But the self beneath all of that—
unbothered by absence,
unafraid of silence,
no longer bargaining for a place
in spaces that no longer recognize your worth.

There is a strange joy
in realizing
you are not responsible
for being understood
by everyone who once knew your name.

That not every bond
is meant to be carried indefinitely.

That love, friendship, family—
none of them are meant
to become cages
you call loyalty.

And so you begin to release.

Not with bitterness,
but with clarity.

Not because you stopped caring,
but because you finally cared enough
about yourself
to stop shrinking.

You learn
that approval is not oxygen.
That validation is not home.
That being chosen
by those who cannot see you fully
is not the same as being known.

And slowly,
you discover
a different kind of strength—

the strength of walking anyway.

Even when no one follows.
Even when no one claps.
Even when the absence
feels louder than the presence once did.

You walk
and you realize
you are not lost—
you are just no longer waiting.

There is peace in that.

A grounded, unshakable peace
that does not depend on being remembered
to feel real.

A peace that says:
I am still here.
I still matter.
Even when I am not chosen.

Especially then.

And one day
you look back
at everything you once held onto
so tightly—

the people,
the expectations,
the versions of yourself
you performed to be enough—

and you do not feel grief first.

You feel distance.

Then gratitude.

Because leaving was not loss.

It was return.

To yourself.

And in that return,
you finally understand:

You were never meant
to be an afterthought
in your own life.

—

#AMatterOfTime #Growth #Reflection #TessieWrites #Life #LifeNLiving #Peace #Relationships

A Language Of Color

I speak in colour
when words feel too small
for the way I exist.

Red is what I wear
when my heart is loud—
deep passion burning at the edges,
love that does not ask permission,
fierceness that refuses to dim itself
for anyone’s comfort.

Black is not absence.
Black is grief, yes—
but also bravery.
The kind that walks through endings
without begging them to stay softer.
The kind that survives
what it cannot fix.

White is my refusal to blend in.
Not silence,
but presence—
clean, deliberate, certain.
The audacity
of being fully seen.

Yellow is laughter spilling over,
joy I cannot contain,
but also fragility—
the soft places I still protect,
even when I am shining.

Blue is peace.
Not empty peace,
but steady peace—
the kind that sits beside me
when everything else is loud
and tells me I am safe.

Orange is warmth without hesitation—
sunlight in motion,
a voice that says *stay*,
a feeling that never arrives quietly.

Brown is wholeness.
Earth held in human form.
Rooted. Real.
Unimpressed by anything
that tries to make it less.

Green is becoming.
Fresh breath.
Soft renewal.
The quiet proof
that I am still growing
even after everything.

Gold is richness—
not what I own,
but what I carry.
A glow that does not fade
when I enter a room.

Purple is royalty,
not given, but claimed—
the dignity of knowing
I do not need permission
to matter.

Gray is brokenness,
but not defeat.
It is what I become
when I am rebuilding—
in-between versions of myself,
still standing, still forming.

Pink is mischief,
soft rebellion,
the parts of me
that still dare to play
even after everything serious
has tried to stay.

I am not one colour.

I am all of them—
layered, shifting, alive.

A whole spectrum
learning how to belong
to itself.

#Art #TessieWrites #color #Fun #joy #language

When the Body Whispers

I wore my healing
like a finish line,
swallowed the final pills
and called myself whole.

But my lungs knew better.

My body,
faithful and fragile,
sent quiet warnings—

heavy limbs,
midnight tightness in the chest,
breath that arrived
like it was carrying burdens.

Still,
I named my neglect discipline.
I called overworking strength.
I mistook depletion
for devotion.

So my body raised its voice.

A violent gasp.
A trembling prayer.
A reminder
that I am dust
and not divine.

Now bedridden,
with medicine-shaken hands,
I am learning
what pride forgot:

rest is holy.

The world does not collapse
when I am still.
God remains God
without my striving.

So I will listen sooner.
I will honor the temple.
I will trust pause
as much as progress.

Because sometimes
the most sacred healing
is not in pushing through—

but in finally
lying down.

#EveningDevotionInsights #GodIsLove #Gratitude #Growth #Habits #Poem #Spirituality #TessieWrites #TheWrittenStudios #Thoughts #LetGoAndLetGod #Poetry

THE WAGES OF 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.

—

#Hate #Loss #Pain #Reflection #TessieWrites #WhyIwrite #anger #BreakingTheSilence #hurt #Poetry #Power #rage #silence

What We Heard

He sat next to me
and did not say a word.

He looked at me.
I looked at him.

And somehow—
we understood.

For thirty minutes
on that bus,
the silence between us
whispered,
“I hear you.”

And I did.

Between our shoulders,
a small, careful distance—
not quite apart,
not quite touching.

I heard the weight
of his long days,
the quiet ache
of endless toil.

I heard the need
for a warm bath,
a hearty meal,
a place
to rest.

And in that same silence,
he heard me too—
all the things
I did not know
how to say.

Two strangers,
held in that space,
speaking fluently
in something
neither of us
had to explain.

—

#TessieWrites #care #fluentInSilence #humanity #Life #LifeNLiving #Poetry #RealLife

FLUENT IN SILENCE

Silence has many forms.
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

#Art #Growth #IfYouCanTSayItWriteIt #Introverts #Pain #Poem #Reflection #Saved #TessieWrites #TheWrittenStudios #WhyIwrite #Writing #BreakingTheSilence #brokenArt #ChangingTheNarrative #MentalHealthPositivity #Poetry #Power #purpose #Relationships #silence #TellingStories #VoicesForTheVoiceless #WritfullyTessie

THE ANGRY DAUGHTER

Anger often hides vulnerability

Why are you the angry daughter? 
Why do you carry your head so high 
and wear your face so low? 

Why do you scream at everybody, 
yet speak so loudly 
with just your eyes? 

I am the daughter 
who was made to grow up— 
forced to mature 
beyond my years. 

My anger is the only way 
I know how to show strength, 
a shield to hide 
the vulnerability 
I am not allowed to express. 

I am not allowed to break down and cry, 
though anxiety consumes me. 

I am not allowed to be carefree, 
to laugh too loudly, 
to exist without expectation. 

I am not allowed to be a girl— 
for I have responsibilities, 
and mouths to feed. 

I am expected to be sane, 
yet superhuman. 
Invisible— 
yet leaving visible footprints 
for those who follow. 

So maybe I am a little angry. 
You would be too. 

I am expected to have all the solutions, 
yet I am still the problem. 

A never-ending cycle 
of expectation and frustration. 

I am the angry daughter. 

The fear I inflict 
is the only respect 
I have ever received. 

I keep breaking my back 
to distract myself 
from the weight of my heart— 
and the pain I am not allowed to express. 

For to love and be loved 
is to be weak— 
and I cannot be weak. 

So I remain the angry daughter, 
a shield around my truth. 

But in the quiet of night, 
a question lingers— 

Who can love 
such an angry, bitter woman? 

And still it echoes: 
Why are you the angry daughter? 

This poem explores the struggle that arises when we are forced to mature too quickly, and the struggle of navigating expectation, identity and self acceptance.

#Hate #Reconstruction #Reflection #TessieWrites #TheWrittenStudios #Poetry

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