Why do I write poems? Honestly, even I’m not sure. It’s a bit of a paradox, considering my rocky relationship with grammar and my general indifference to poetry, mine included.

If you’re expecting a tale of formal writing courses or poetic influences, I’ll have to disappoint you. Reading itself was more of an obligation than a joy for much of my life. My world has always been layered with sarcasm, tethered to moments of love, chaos, rebellion, escape, laughter, failure, resilience, violence, success, forgiveness, and unshakable gratitude—a mess of contradictions, really.

But something shifted when I was about 12 or 13. I can’t pinpoint why, but the weight of existence became a little too much, a little too loud. So, I started jotting down the chaos in my head, messy and unpolished, just to make sense of it all. And somehow, through that process, through seeing those raw thoughts on paper, things began to untangle. My mind found clarity in the act of writing. I don’t know if anyone else would find any meaning there, but for me, it was like finding a map in the middle of the mayhem.

Writing isn’t something I schedule or plan—it just shows up when it wants to, uninvited but welcomed. And strangely enough, for something I’ve done for so long, it’s also the one area I refuse to formally study. I keep the rules and structure of poetry at arm’s length, guarding the rawness of my words, fiercely preserving the freedom that writing gives me.

Do I call myself a poet? Not really. I’m just someone who spills thoughts onto paper when the world feels too heavy. My poems are simply fragments of my mind’s wanderings, unfiltered and free, existing not for approval but for the sole purpose of expressing what I can’t say any other way.

For most of my life, I kept my thoughts confined to a small circle—a kind of private sanctuary. I shared them sparingly, only with my family and a select few close friends. But then the world paused—during the isolation of the pandemic, I found myself coaxed into blogging, putting my voice out there for the first time. Life, however, has a way of interrupting even the best-laid plans, and I had to step away. Now, that chapter is ready to begin again, this time with a renewed sense of purpose.

It’s funny how the very force that inspires creation can also threaten to undo it. There was a moment not too long ago when it clicked for me: What we often see as our greatest strengths can also masquerade as our sneakiest weaknesses. The lesson in that? Failure isn’t the opposite of progress; it’s part of it, a pivotal stepping stone on the road to learning.

Life’s contrasts shape us in ways we're often too blind to notice. Without sorrow, joy would lose its luster. Without heartbreak, love wouldn’t hold its weight. And the ache of missing someone? That’s just evidence of love and memory at work. Disappointment—though sharp—only exists because we dared to hope in the first place.

Each day we wake up isn’t something we’re entitled to; it’s something we’re gifted. I know now, you can't let someone else's shadows dim the light guiding your path forward. If I’ve learned anything, it’s this: Your momentum is sacred. Guard it. Every sunrise is another chance to fuel your own ‘freight train,’ to let it roar ahead without hitching another person’s weight onto your engine. The track is yours—don’t let anything or anyone veer you off course.

I once wrote a verse about the intoxicating thrill of gradually uncovering someone’s true essence, layer by delicate layer, much like savoring the unfolding story of a well-loved book. My connection to this energy ran so profoundly that it felt as though I had unlocked an unstoppable force within myself—something entirely foreign, yet exhilarating. In those fleeting moments, gravity alone seemed powerful enough to anchor me to reality. And still, there was more—the electrifying pursuit of unraveling their mystery, examining the intricacies and contradictions that made them who they were, was undeniably addictive, even if time later revealed the truth of their reality.

It was pure, unfiltered emotion—a raw, relentless flow of words that surged through me with a force I couldn’t and wouldn’t suppress. They spilled onto the page, as though guided by something far greater than myself. Out of that moment of unscripted passion, my very first blog poem took shape—UNSCRIPTED GRAVITY!