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<blockquote>If this isn’t love, then why do we hurt each other and care so deeply at the same time? Why does our closeness feel dangerous, and our distance unbearable?</blockquote>‎If this isn’t love, ‎why do my eyes burn when he’s hurting, ‎as if his pain found a home inside me? ‎ ‎Why do I miss him loudly ‎on the days he is far away ‎yet the moment we are close, ‎we argue like two people ‎who care too much ‎and don’t know where to put it? ‎ ‎If this isn’t love, ‎why does he check on me in quiet ways, ‎doing things that cost him comfort, ‎time, even money, ‎then shrug it off and say, ‎“I’m just being nice.” ‎ ‎Why does he distance himself ‎the moment my heart leans toward him, ‎as if kindness is allowed, ‎but feeling is too dangerous?<figure id="figure-ghx1j64ifkmk5xm5gw"><img id="ghx1j64ifkmk5xm5gw" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/26esmfgb9DPhTGeP05gnHe4NMq6DtnK83yS6ippNjEEQxbZlUyLZbfrrKPia0fYn.jpg" alt="Two hearts. One fear. Is this love? @yemipoet" title="Two hearts. One fear. Is this love? @yemipoet" class="object-cover bg-gray-100" style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="Love " data-positionx="undefined" data-positiony="undefined" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/26esmfgb9DPhTGeP05gnHe4NMq6DtnK83yS6ippNjEEQxbZlUyLZbfrrKPia0fYn.jpg" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;"><figcaption class="body-normal text-gray-500 mt-2">Love</figcaption></figure> ‎And why do I pretend not to see ‎the softness in his eyes, ‎because admitting it ‎might break the little friendship ‎we are both terrified to lose? ‎ ‎If this isn’t love, ‎then what do you call two people ‎who care in secret, ‎hurt in silence, ‎and pull back just when everything ‎almost becomes real? ‎ ‎What do you call two hearts ‎that move around each other ‎like eclipses ‎close enough to turn the world dark, ‎yet never brave enough to touch? ‎ ‎What do you call two hearts ‎that beat toward each other ‎but step away at the same time, ‎because the truth might cost ‎the one thing holding them together? ‎ ‎If this isn’t love, ‎then why does it feel ‎like we are always one breath away ‎from saying everything ‎and one fear away ‎from saying nothing at all? ‎ ‎_Halima Abu &nbsp; &nbsp;

If This Isn’t Love‎

<blockquote>Theme: Poetic Letter to Self – My Creative Journey of 2025</blockquote>The Yemipoet December Poetry Contest closed the year on a reflective note, inviting poets to look inward and write honest poetic letters to themselves. Through this theme, poets reflected on their creative journeys in 2025, highlighting their growth, struggles, wins, losses, gratitude, and hopes for the future.The theme, Poetic Letter to Self: My Creative Journey of 2025, encouraged sincerity, vulnerability, self-awareness, and emotional depth. Participants were required to express their stories within a 120 to 150-word limit.The contest was officially announced on December 1st, 2025, and submissions closed on December 10th, 2025. By the end of the submission period, a total of 299 entries were received from poets across different backgrounds, making it one of the most participated in contests of the year.<h3>Submission Process </h3>All entries were submitted through the official website, www.yemipoetproduction.comAn optional submission requirement allowed poets to convert their entries into carousel posts, share them on Instagram, and collaborate with @yacsofoundation after completing their initial submission through the website.Evaluation and Winners Selection&nbsp; Entries were carefully reviewed based on authenticity and emotional depth. Thirty outstanding entries were shortlisted as the Top 30 winners. From these, five poets emerged as the Top 5 winners. <blockquote>Top 5 Winners Spotlight</blockquote>Faith OkaforIkechukwu SelinaHoosen ChristianahKolajo ZainabAlimat Abu<figure id="figure-j55r4ktjbnmk5wzov9"><img id="j55r4ktjbnmk5wzov9" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/36jy99URNWBXkMhqjgHCSHm85Be001t3POOQgigCqHcTdEmRbrtoIgsd4zh2TlOA.jpg" alt="We present our winners" title="We present our winners" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 " style="aspect-ratio: 1/1; object-position: center center;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="1:1" data-caption="December Contest Winners" data-positionx="undefined" data-positiony="undefined" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/36jy99URNWBXkMhqjgHCSHm85Be001t3POOQgigCqHcTdEmRbrtoIgsd4zh2TlOA.jpg" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 1/1; object-position: center center;"><figcaption class="body-normal text-gray-500 mt-2">December Contest Winners</figcaption></figure><blockquote><h3>What was originally planned as a Top 4 expanded to a Top 5, following the generous support of an anonymous donor who added an extra ₦25,000 to the initial award announced.&nbsp;</h3></blockquote>Winners AwardA total cash prize of ₦125,000 was shared equally among the Top 5 winners.AppreciationWe sincerely appreciate every poet who participated, every reader who engaged, every volunteer and judge who evaluated the entries, and every supporter who made the Yemipoet December Poetry Contest a success. Your words mattered.&nbsp;Special thanks to the YACSO Foundation for the continued support and partnership.<blockquote>See you in the next edition</blockquote>..............Compiled by&nbsp; Adetule O. Adetutu&nbsp;

Yemipoet December Poetry Contest’25

<blockquote>Even in fragments, you are enough</blockquote>Broken crayons still color Cracked wings still learn to fly. Torn pages still tell stories. Bent petals still bloom. Wounded hearts still beat Shattered glass still shines in light.<figure id="figure-fz1w0yz08smmk5wf8k5"><img id="fz1w0yz08smmk5wf8k5" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/336blqk87pWlKgxjJhuqMHi5vHXTCTIMkU9iVrc83ZOYEvkAna4tToCgIysSG9AF.jpg" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 " style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionX="undefined" data-positionY="undefined" data-fullWidth="false"/></figure> Bruised skies still give birth to stars. Silence still carries songs. Scars are proof of survival You don't have to be whole to be powerful Even in pieces, you're still enoughEnitan Eleto

Broken crayons still color

<blockquote>This is what becoming looks like when no one is watching</blockquote> I’m still learning.Still trying.Still showing upeven when I don’t feel ready. I put myself out there...posting, applying,refreshing my inbox,hoping today is different. Not because I’m confident every day,but because I don’t want to disappearwhile I’m becoming. Remote work has tested me.The waiting after I click “submit”and tell myself not to hope too much.The silence that follows.The moments I reread my work,wondering if I missed something.<figure id="figure-3tx5wrgn7vmk5w0yec"><img id="3tx5wrgn7vmk5w0yec" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/30Lmb378E8ofvochhWdpde9F67FrsLqJUJUxD0qaJ6OsqwGo0cBIsnUwfwufrfOP.jpg" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 " style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionX="undefined" data-positionY="undefined" data-fullWidth="false"/></figure>Every frustration pushed meto rewrite my CV.Every delay sent me backto learn one more skill.Every quiet seasonmade me more consistent,not louder. I’m not where I want to be yet.But I’m not standing still. I keep learning.I keep applying.I keep believing. And I know this...if I can keep going like this,I will win.Stephanie Okafor.

Learning Out Loud

<blockquote>‎“He loved me loudly, imperfectly, and in ways I didn’t understand until I grew up.”</blockquote>‎My father isn’t a perfect man,‎He never fit the flawless plan.‎With temper flares and gentle ways,‎He raised me through both storm and praise.‎<figure id="figure-ull52q4farmk5uiwyh"><img id="ull52q4farmk5uiwyh" src="https://cdn.durable.co/covers/2bFAVOdkLsH23uLaV8gVqyXOwtZ1s4sfhgEmRyaem6RxbBGQjtHTNxmkPdWyMjMp.jpg" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 " style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="undefined" data-positiony="undefined" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/covers/2bFAVOdkLsH23uLaV8gVqyXOwtZ1s4sfhgEmRyaem6RxbBGQjtHTNxmkPdWyMjMp.jpg" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;"></figure>‎He’d scold, then hug, then scold once more,‎A mix of love I couldn’t ignore.‎His rules were tough, his tone was loud,‎But looking back, today I’m proud.‎‎As a child, I found it strange,‎His love came wrapped in sudden change.‎But now I see, with clearer eyes,‎He too was growing, learning wise.‎‎He tried to shield me from his pain,‎So I won’t walk those roads again.‎His choices flawed, his past not neat,‎Yet still, he stood on tired feet.‎‎At sixteen, I would roll my eyes,‎At every word he tried to advise.‎But now at twenty-five, I see,‎His heart was always there for me.‎‎You see, my father is my light,‎My steady hand in darkest night.‎He didn’t have the world to give,‎But gave his all, and taught me to live.‎‎With hands worn rough from years of fight,‎He laid the slabs I stand on right.‎He worked, he prayed, he gave, he bled,‎So dreams I dreamed could bloom instead.‎‎He believed in me through every doubt,‎Pushed me forward, cheered me out.‎No envy dimmed his burning flame,‎He only wanted me to claim…‎A life of joy, a worthy name.‎‎To the man who held my heart with care,‎Even when I wished he wasn’t there.‎To the shield I didn't think I’d need‎Whose love was shown in every deed…‎‎He's not perfect, but he's mine.‎Ikechukwu Celina Chinwemmeri

He’s Not Perfect, But He’s Mine

<blockquote>This is the story of a place that hurt me… and still couldn’t stop me</blockquote>I come from a place where dreams were often whispered,&nbsp;"Too loud".And life might punish you for daring to hope.&nbsp;A place where generator hums louder than ambition.&nbsp;And yet, I dreamt.&nbsp;Like Joseph,&nbsp;No coat of many colours but I wear grace.&nbsp;Tables turn,&nbsp;Ask pharaoh how a prisoner became a prime.&nbsp;<figure id="figure-a5lgi86zermk5v3dnc"><img id="a5lgi86zermk5v3dnc" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/30MDGUxzoSID3isrAbnntIh8P6hYGZLEpJ65xFJOnbiD3uEWgH5X9t85PbnqY0oA.jpg" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 " style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionX="undefined" data-positionY="undefined" data-fullWidth="false"/></figure>Where I am from is not just a place,It is a pulse.&nbsp;With every heartbeat felt,&nbsp;And every step? Bold.The ground that hurt me,&nbsp;Also taught me to fly, to soar, and to dive without warning.&nbsp;What do you call a child born into brokenness but refuses to shatter.&nbsp; Each dream, each step is just a phase for me to level up,&nbsp;I level up once, twice and then three times.&nbsp;I was taught to swallow pain and spit purpose.&nbsp;Because where I am from,&nbsp;I survive not because it's easy,&nbsp;But because giving up is not coded in my DNA.&nbsp;From patching dreams with broken crayons,&nbsp;To painting future with bold strokes.&nbsp;Here, the struggle has swag,&nbsp;And the ghetto births greatness!&nbsp;Rita Sani

Where I am from

Yemipoet Creation

Yemipoet is an Instagram  page that organizes monthly and random poetry contest. Top 3 winner gets a cash prize. Yemipoet is registered  as Yemipoet Creation Company in Nigeria