Once upon a time, I thought writing is a creative, non-harmful excuse for venting.
See, I was a teenager back then- frustrated and afraid to voice out my own insecurities. So I turned to poetry- composing sick verses and cheesy lines that mirror the emotional turmoil I had that time. My poems were crude and clumsy. They even had an irritating rhyme. But they sounded so true whenever I read them aloud in the bathroom. Whatever I lacked in form and in style, the genuity of the moment that was preserved while I was composing these sick and cheesy verses made up for its beauty. As I reread my own spiels in the bathroom, it allowed me to reflect and to see who I was, who I am, and who I could be.
A couple of years after, I have already entered the workforce, but I still find poetry as a creative, non-harmful excuse for venting. More than that, I realize that they carry therapeutic effects on one’s soul. Writing reminds me of the reality that I am bound and limited with words. But it is also through writing that I realize that words can be twisted and be bent. In my case, where expectations and insecurities pressure me to become someone else, it is through writing poetry that I am reminded that I don’t need to suck it up. Here is where I find my crude and clumsy voice. It might sound squeaky and oftentimes uneven, but the fact remains that it is still mine. I might as well be proud of it.
What you’ll find here in this blog are poems and ramblings that I made for both intense and mundane moments of my life. I want to share these because I figure that it’s time to stop reading my works in the bathroom where I am the only one who can hear my words. I want to lend my voice for anyone who might be in need of it because poets have been lending their voices to me too.