I've counted them up, and I've already written 33 poems this month. Between #napowrimo entries, #poetrytogo commissions, random birthday card inserts, and "write me a haiku about having my hair cut" challenges, I've done over the amount required for me to "pass" NaPoWriMo.
And yet. Yet I've given myself a barrel of grief over not doing it properly.
And luckily, some good people were there to tell me why, in the kindest terms possible, that's just nonsense. Weirdly, it's what I would have told them myself, were the roles reversed. One to try to remember, eh?
This one's for them/ you:
It's been quite a difficult session,
What with being in thrall of obsession -
It's hard to find time
For good, shorter rhymes,
When you're learning a show - did I mention?
My head's full of timings and edits,
And "Is that how they would have said it?"s,
But if I scribble more,
Quickly ramp up my score,
This might still redound to my credit.
If I stay up 'til late in the night
And tie myself down just to write,
I might feel some pride
And no longer deride
These efforts I deem far too slight.
But you intervened - some of my friends -
And took time to kindly amend
My self-image so low,
Saying "time to let go -
With just one, you've still won, in the end."
See, turns out it's just me who sees failure,
Who's forcibly tucked in my tail, yeah.
I'll stop kicking myself -
It's just bad for my health -
And indulge in some kinder behaviour.
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