Reflections on NaPoWriMo '13

It's hard to know how I feel about the end of NaPoWriMo, because I'm still not entirely sure why I decided to commit to it.  It was sort of a lark.  My aunt was doing it, and so I thought, why not me too?  But I've never felt like I truly had the soul of a poet.  To be honest, I still don't.  There's a certain sensetivity of words and beauty, a certain deep cutting truth that I don't think I possess.   Mostly, though, I'm not infatuated with poetry.  My first love is stories.

That said, even if I don't feel like a "poet," I do have a little more faith in my ability to write poetry.  In truth, I'm only a little surprised I made it through the month, but I'm astonished that most of my poems had enough internal integrity not to collapse on themselves like an under-baked souffle.   Now at the month's end, I have thirty little poems, like crisp new calling cards.  That's something, right?