Poetry is my lifeline
There’s something so cathartic about putting pen to paper—spilling out emotions and tangled thoughts, and then releasing them. Once they’re down on the page, that’s it—you let them go. For me, this release often takes the form of poetry. It’s a delicate art, if you will—making sense of feelings I’ve never fully understood or ones I’ve carried for far too long.
Writing poetry allows me to escape reality for a moment—a brief pause from the monotony of life. When I write, I step away from what’s been weighing me down. I lay it all out, raw and unfiltered, whether it’s on a blank page or in my notes app. Afterward, it’s like leaving the weight of that part of my world behind—if only for a little while.
In a way, it’s no different from a singer pouring their pain and experiences into their songs or a dancer expressing their story through movement. Every poem tells a story—one that’s deeply personal yet relatable to others. Sometimes it’s messy or hard, but there’s a certain beauty in how universal these experiences are. There’s beauty in turning life’s hardest, messiest moments into something others might see themselves in.
As someone who doesn’t always know how to vocalise my feelings, writing is like my lifeline. The page or blinking cursor is patient—it never rushes me to find the right words. It’s a dichotomy, really: a quiet tension between what I wish I could say aloud and what flows effortlessly onto the page. It doesn’t mean the words are perfect—most of the time, they’re not. But they’re honest, and that’s what matters. In their imperfection, they reflect life itself. And unlike spoken words, they carry a permanence that feels grounding.
Writing is the most patient teacher and in some ways, therapist. It doesn’t interrupt or judge, nor does it demand anything. It allows me to sit with my thoughts, untangle them, and reshape them until they make sense—or until they no longer have to. Writing poetry, to me, is about confronting what’s within. Sometimes it’s meant to be read by others; sometimes it’s just a private release. Either way, it’s the most freeing form of communication I know.
And that’s why I’ll keep writing—one word at a time.