A poem {Adventures in writing}

I thought I needed to be perfect
But this is just how you saw me
the first time,
beautiful flaws, stitched together.

I thought I needed to be perfect
before I could find love but
this is just how you saw me
willing to open, willing to give.

I thought I needed to be perfect
Stable, and serious, and
not hairy, you know
but this is just how you saw me
natural, joyful, over-sensitive.

I thought I needed to be perfect
but since we’ve met, my heart
is bursting from so much love
and still there is space for
how you saw me,
the first time,
willing to give my heart to the whole world

and the world giving it back.

Written on June 22, 2012.


I have been wanting to share my poems on a different platform and comment about my creative process. This was one of my first attempt to reconnect with poetry in 2012, after being inspired by Samantha Reynolds Bentlily’s Daily Poem. I sent it to her and she made me promise to write more. It was just the (re) beginning.


My first poem ever that I can remember was about a wardrobe, and it was hand written, on a lined sheet, with felt tip pens and placed in a turquoise duo-tang. I think I was about 7? Mum? Do you know? I know she still has that duo-tang somewhere. I only remembered about that duo-tang, earlier this year, after joining the Write Yourself Alive course (thanks Andrea!). Poems were my initial form of expression. I used to write about everything. I don’t know what happened…

When did I get so scared? When did I start thinking that poetry was reserved for other, smarter, more interesting people? When did I start thinking that my poems were too simple, too raw, too honest, not clever enough, not beautiful enough, not clear enough? When did the first drop of acidic shame pierce a dark spot in my tender creative heart?

This poem, without a tittle, is the poem that reconnected me with simplicity, beauty and acceptance. I am so grateful someone poured more simplicity, beauty and acceptance on it. It grew into a beautiful tree with more leaves than I could count on, on which more and more poems grew. I like to collect them and let them dry and show them to you.

I write poetry like I speak. I never know what I am going to say but I have a feeling to share. I let the words shape their own poem. The only constant is the feeling, the container is the page, the words are moving around and flowing into a glass full of invisible ink, half-full/half-empty.

I rarely measure it with number, I feel the rhythm of the words inside of me. I rarely try to rhyme, I just know sometimes I’d like a word who sounds like “this”. I rarely change any of it after it’s been written. I let it be. I let it be imperfect, as a reminder that life is too short, too beautiful, too painful, too bright to stop it from being too short, too beautiful, too painful and too bright.

Let that be the way it is, let that be the spark of a new world or the destruction of an old one. Let that be.

Got poems? ❤