I don't write poetry.
Poetry writes me.
It writes my mood, my actions, my thoughts and my feelings.
It writes my questions, my muses, my curiosities and my disappointments.
It writes my triumphs, my travails, my loves as well as my losses.
For as long as I can remember I have been a very sensitive and emotional person. I often thought, and through the early years of my adulthood I was often told (mostly by my romantic partners) that my sensitivities were a shortcoming.
I was too emotional.
I was too soft.
It made me weak, and vulnerable and I needed to work harder to curb those natural inclinations.
I foolishly believed that for a while, until I learned that my ability to feel deeply and channel those sensitivities is actually one of my biggest strengths.
My words became my therapy.
My words became my shield from others scorns.
My words became my biggest pride and my constant supporter.
My words became my most fulfilling artistic outlet.
My words became my solace.
For whatever I may lack in life, I will always covet the courage of my words.
of a Shameless Romantic
Melancholy Musings of a Shameless Romantic marks the "coming of age" of my voice as a poet. I had wanted to write for a long time but had a stifling case of imposter syndrome as I had never gone to university for English, I had no degree, I hadn't studied the great poets before me so what right did I have to call myself a writer? What I did have was overwhelming daily thoughts and emotions that I knew nothing else to do with but grab a pen and paper and work through them.
This is the first of three poetry books I have at various stages. Melancholy musings is just that, the start of flexing my poetic muscles in regards to the ups and downs of dating, being an artist and simply navigating through life.
Simple sketches, similar to that pictured on the cover, are sprinkled throughout.
Collections to Come...
A Woman Who Made Herself Her Muse
My work progressed to a deeper rooted and more thought provoking prose, grounded in what it means to me to be a woman in my follow up "A Woman who Made Herself Her Muse"- which is almost complete. Birthed during my transition from my 20's into the 30's- through a pandemic, frustration with a disgustingly sexist political leader of a country and a complete career overhaul inspired by the giving up on a dream and finding a new life course. The book will explore portrait photography to accompany my words.
Watermelon Sky Kisses
Simultaneously, my third captures my most recent headspace, a long distance love affair as love is sparked, separated between two countries and comes back together again only to once again navigate long distance through work leading to separate cities. Titled 'Watermelon Sky Kisses" it includes a journalist, autobiographical element weaved amongst the poetry with photos and conversations from my personal life.
Excerpt from "Melancholy Musings of a Shameless Romantic"
Sunday evenings seem to be
when I sense you the strongest
I wonder if it's because somewhere out there you are thinking of me as strongly as I am of you
I like to believe that maybe our souls meet in our dreams on Sunday nights
Maybe that would explain why I wake up every Monday, missing you
with a renewed fierceness
Our souls know we should be together
and they are brave enough
to cross the boundaries
that we are not
Excerpt from "A Woman Who Made Herself Her Muse"
Am I a beautiful doll with a 28” inch waist
With long flowing hair and plump lips to taste
If an hourglass shape I maintain, full bosom, round buttox but a slender frame
Can dictate the beauty your eyes do behold
But not if I should stray from the standard mould
A firm tongue lashing, a slap on the wrist, chastised, criticized my heart you do scold
Affronted, my unexpected emotions enfold
As the words cut deep, they leave a lasting impression, my soul not my shape has learned a harsh lesson
I’ve done nothing wrong by changing or growing, it’s not about the figure of measurement I’m showing
Shouldn’t my value lie not in the numbers on the scale but my kindness, compassion, how I choose love to heal
If my once doll-like beauty has faded in your eyes just because I have slightly plumper thighs
Than perhaps the word love holds for us different meanings
Beauty to you on the outside I see in souls gleaming
I’m sorry I can’t uphold what you had hoped or expected
But it’s been a long time coming now that who I am I’ve accepted.
Excerpt from "Watermelon Sky Kisses"
The air of this small space
Is tinged with our presence
I breathe in the moment
And faintly it drifts into me
The all too familiar scent
of a stranger I once knew
But did I ever really know you?
I knew your scent once
It enwrapped me and roused me
Lulled me to sleep and wildly woke me
Both the detox that cleansed me
And the intoxicating substance rushing through my veins
That scent once tainted
The damp of my skin
The curl of my hair
The lust on my lips
Becoming more familiar then my own
Yet again, hardly known
How I long to call it home