Becoming me

Put simply, this is a personal essay about how I became the writer I am today. I revisit some of the poems that kickstarted my journey as a writer and more specifically, a poet, and how I discovered my love for poetry. I take a look at some of the obstacles I overcame to get to where I am, and how I came to welcome my identity as a writer. Basically, it’s going to be a bit of a long one, so buckle up!

Writing is such a big part of me, so much so that I’m just not me when I’m not writing.

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Adrift – A poem

Maybe I’m a drifter
Drifting

I’ve seen so many drift

Yet
I let them

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The ways a place can hold you

There are different ways a place can hold memories. Sometimes you see them and other times you feel them. It might be just a breath, other times the feeling can consume you. But either way it moves you and either way it’s there.

Sometimes it can be like a waft of familiar perfume that makes your heart skip a beat. Or it’s like you travelled back in time and you’re no longer standing there but surrounded by your past unfolding in front of you. As if your soul escapes your body for a moment and the only thing possible for you to do is stand there and feel it.

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Sometimes I wish I could be like a tree – a documentation of growing pains.

Sometimes I wish I could be like a tree.

If I were a tree at least I’d know my purpose (or I wouldn’t know I had one).

But instead I’m here, not still but not moving, questioning…

Who am I supposed to be?

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Things the trees told me – A poem

Today the trees told me
That when their branches creak above me
It means they’re listening
And if I hear them whispering
They’re talking about me.
Today the trees told me
All the things they overhear
When we’re near enough
And our minds are loud
Every thought we think is clear.
The trees talked and listened to me today

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My front porch – A poem

Whenever my breath feels stale but I need to breathe, I sit on my front porch (preferably in the early morning But sometimes afternoon) Only when it’s sunny (Usually I have to squint my eyes but I don’t mind) It cleanses me in a funny sort of way (Even when it’s loud with endless planes…

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Everything that’s left

Journal entry: 14/9 | 9:27pm Yesterdays are only mixtures of memories and maybes. Maybe I’d be happier if things had been different. But maybe I wouldn’t be me. I try not to regret. I try not to let all the stories that fill me, consume me. Time is only the rhythmic in and out of…

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Grey skies and no rain – A poem

This is one of my favourite poems in my new book, ‘Messages in Bottles (hoping happiness replies)’. By the way, it’s not actually about grey skies or rain.

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