UNREACHABLE

I did not ask for you.

Did not invite the interruption
of my quiet becoming,
did not leave space
for the kind of storm
you disguised as arrival.

You found me anyway—

slipping into the soft edges
of boredom and youth,
where innocence still confuses
attention for intention,
and being seen
for being valued.

I was young.

Too willing
to mistake imitation for intimacy,
too untrained
to recognize
that gold can be hollow
and still glitter enough
to deceive the eye.

And you—

you arrived
already fluent in being wanted,
carrying charm like habit,
like breath,
like something
you never had to think about.

I mistook it
for depth.

Mistook your ease
for meaning.

And so I gave.

Quietly at first—
then completely.

My time.
My loyalty.
My defense of you
in rooms you never entered.

Even when life
offered me something gentler,
something real,
I still turned
toward the idea of you—

as though longing
could outrank love.

But frost does not announce itself.

It arrives slowly,
settling in conversations
that begin to thin,
in warmth
that stops returning,
in presence
that no longer feels like presence.

And one day
I understood.

I was not singular.

Not chosen.

Not seen
the way I had been seeing you.

Just one among many—

a familiar softness,
a temporary comfort,
a story you could step in and out of
without consequence.

And something in me
finally stopped mistaking
attention for care.

So I gathered myself.

Not loudly.
Not dramatically.

Just carefully—
piece by piece—
until there was more of me
left with me
than left with you.

And when the door closed
for the last time,
it did not echo loss.

It echoed return.

Because I did not leave
to be found again.

I left
to become whole enough
that you could not reach me
even if you tried.

And now—

I am not gone.

Not forgotten.

Not waiting.

I am simply
forever unreachable

#LoveYourself #lettingGo #Life #LifeNLiving #Relationships #SelfLove #Toxicity #WritfullyTessie

Naked

For the one who holds me gently when I unravel.

I stand before you,
unclothed—

all my scars,
all my flaws,
all the fragile places
I once kept hidden
for fear they’d make me
less worthy of love.

I peel away
the mask
of the woman
I have claimed to be—

the practiced strength,
the careful smiles,
the armor stitched
from survival.

And there I am.

Bare.

See my tears
as sacred rivers.
See my fears
as trembling truths.
See me—
raw as I am.

As I step out
of this strong suit,
hold me close.

Because the world
has often been cold,
teaching me
to cover,
to harden,
to conceal.

But with you,

I have found
a warmth
that does not demand
perfection.

A presence
where I can unravel
without shame.

Where being exposed
does not mean
being unsafe.

So here—
in your tenderness,
in your steady hands,
in the quiet grace
of being fully seen—

I learn

that intimacy
is not in being touched,

but in being known.

And for the first time,

I understand
what it means
to be naked
and still loved.

Intimacy is not always in touch. Sometimes, it is in being fully seen—beyond the masks, the strength, the fear, and still being loved there.

This piece is for the kind of love that makes vulnerability feel safe. The kind that allows us to lay down our armor and be known, flaws and all.

To be naked is not merely to be uncovered—
it is to be understood.

#WritfullyTessie #WrittenStudiosPoetryLoveAndVulnerabilityIntimacyEmotionalNakednessLovePoemHealingThroughLove

What I Choose to Keep

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.

I will not whisper

#Growth #IfYouCanTSayItWriteIt #Inspiration #WhyIwrite #BreakingTheSilence #Poetry #speaking #strength #WritfullyTessie

A Silence That Speaks

Silence is the first word.
And the last.

It outlives every voice—
keeps what we refuse to give.

In the dark, toward the light—
through chaos, through order,
at the beginning,
at the end.

It moves through many
hearts and minds,
but only a few
are fluent.

We sit with it—
guarding our truths,
letting our eyes speak
what our mouths deny.

Sometimes we shout it—
yet only silence
hears us.

Silence is not a vacuum.
Not absence—
but something we shape
to shield ourselves.

I do not know what silence is.

But I know this:
it speaks
of us.

#IfYouCanTSayItWriteIt #Thoughts #fluentInSilence #language #Poetry #silence #WritfullyTessie

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

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