Blog

<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

<blockquote>The hardest weights are the ones no one else can see.</blockquote>So how do I make everyone else understand? Even words struggle to explain. I guess some feelings were never designed to be translated, only endured.There are emotions only your own chest can carry, weights no one else can measure.I’m talking of Persistent trials that look like silence from the outside, progress that feels invisible even to yourself.<figure id="figure-287zgww4ctmk5tmucv"><img id="287zgww4ctmk5tmucv" src="https://cdn.durable.co/covers/27xzxgCFMUqGTzeTm3eYcAlFsuurRLrLTYgMWw0TllY1S9ozvc5DeX3ZRrmblCKU.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>Moments where you stand at a crossroad, torn between chasing the dream or simply moving because standing still feels heavier.Expectations rise louder than hope. Dreams remain unfinished. Responsibilities multiply like they don’t care about timing.Those who claim to understand you often end up judging you.And through it all, the one thing holding me upright, keeping me grounded, keeping me breathing is FAITH. Written by Zainab Kolajo

PROGRESS LOOKS LIKE SILENCE

<blockquote>No one ever taught men what to do when strength starts hurting.</blockquote>Men are not taught to mournonly how to endure&nbsp;how to stand tall like iroko&nbsp;while storms pass through our chest.&nbsp; The first time I saw my father cryit was without tearshe folded pain into his pockets&nbsp;and called it strength.&nbsp;<figure id="figure-wy7ufpy4f2mk5t18u5"><img id="wy7ufpy4f2mk5t18u5" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/35lu7pZ25P0L6xuL3IPB3MgBmXg5vap9p9KbyIDPpLPqpWsNKy9uzp7sPzOvT0pN.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/blocks/35lu7pZ25P0L6xuL3IPB3MgBmXg5vap9p9KbyIDPpLPqpWsNKy9uzp7sPzOvT0pN.jpg" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;"></figure> He carried his grief gently&nbsp;careful not to spill itbecause silence is safer than sobbing.&nbsp; Men are not taught how to sit with lossso when I am in pain, I think of my father and remember: men are not allowed to grieveonly to carry caskets of feelingswithout letting it drop&nbsp;to bury pain without making the grave. Then I sigh "Nwoke kwesiri iguzosi ike" —a man must stand firm regardlessbut when night comes, I am only a woman.&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;.......... Destar Freeman

The Ones Who Cannot Grieve

<blockquote>If love is only a word, why does it demand oceans crossed,lands wandered, and wings broken?</blockquote><figure id="figure-jcf9hk1ejmk5sh06c"><img id="jcf9hk1ejmk5sh06c" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/12EdgEOireAGUZwz6jB7Ma2IeMEQb5Ct0VGbGd1Q17wXiVFNGmqFBBZ8AUrAdEEq.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/blocks/12EdgEOireAGUZwz6jB7Ma2IeMEQb5Ct0VGbGd1Q17wXiVFNGmqFBBZ8AUrAdEEq.jpg" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;"></figure>Have heard a lots &nbsp;about loveIt’s an action word they say&nbsp;So what can I not do for you my love?&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; I can swim the ocean&nbsp;if your love is in its depth&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;I can wander to the neck of the landto find where your heart rest&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; I can fly&nbsp;knowing that I shall fall&nbsp; &nbsp; So tell meWill you by this&nbsp;then say that I love you?&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; ........ Jola Dada Bolaji

Before I Say I Love You

<blockquote>Maybe this time, we should all do something different. Something quieter. Something simpler.</blockquote>I’m sorry this won’t be the regular New Year write-up.No recaps of the year we survived, no long summaries of lessons learned, no carefully listed expectations for the year ahead.So what exactly am I doing here?I guess I’m choosing honesty. I’m sorry this particular one is gonna be conversational-like.Maybe this time, we should all do something different. Something quieter. Something simpler.Ask for nothing. Not because we don’t need more, but because we’ve already carried enough.Just bless God for breath, for endurance, for making it this far.Stay strong, even when strength looks like rest.Get ready not with pressure, but with intention.And when the moment comes, go harder. Not out of fear, but out of faith. —Zainab Kolapo

Breath Before Becoming

<blockquote><h2>When you read hundreds of poems every month, you stop looking for perfection, and start listening for truth.</h2></blockquote>Over the past 16 months, I have had the privilege of serving as a poetry curator and reader for the Yemipoet Monthly Poetry Contest. Each month, I read between 150 and 300 poems, spanning themes such as Zero Hunger, Victory, Comfort Zone, World of Love, Poetic Rant for Social Change, Poetry for SDGs Letter to Self, and many others.This experience has changed me.First, I have learned that poetry is not just art, it is testimony. Across different voices and backgrounds, I encountered pain, hope, anger, faith, resistance, love, and resilience. Writers consistently reminded me that poetry is often a place where truth feels safest.Second, I have evolved as a reader. I now read beyond beautiful lines and clever metaphors. I listen for intent, honesty, clarity, and growth. I have learned to value poems that may be imperfect in form but powerful in purpose, as much as those that are technically polished.Third, I have seen patterns that matter. The strongest poems often:- Stay true to the theme without forcing it - Show rather than tell - Use simple language with deep meaning - Speak from lived experience or sincere reflectionTo writers and poetry contest participants, my advice is this:- Write honestly, not performatively - Read widely and revise intentionally - Respect the theme, but don’t imprison your voice - Growth matters more than winningEvery poem submitted is a step forward. Every attempt sharpens your voice.To all the poets who have trusted us with their words, thank you. You have not only grown as writers; you have also shaped me as a reader.Poetry continues to teach me that listening is an art, too.Opeyemi Enitan Moses .......

What 16 Months of Reading 3,000+ Poems Taught Me

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