filling blank pages.
I'm a poet. but, do I know it?
Every 12 year old boy has a dream:
to write an epic book of poetry someday.
No? Just me? It’s still a pretty great dream.
As an angsty preteen, most of the poetry that I wrote was broody and was some reiteration of Linkin Park song lyrics about pain and depression that I couldn’t even begin to fathom at that age. But, it felt edgy. I liked edgy. Every few months, my family would go spend a day in Granville Island in Vancouver and I would frequent this indie bookstore there. I would marvel at the raw emotion of local poets and their unique perspective on life. I dismissed the nature poetry books and leaned towards the ones that romanticized the urban sprawl with naughty words graffitied all over the pages. These books fanned the flame of that desire to be a poet.
Last year, I finally made the decision to go for it! Release the poetry that’s been pulsing through my veins.
Just one tiny, little, hefty, gargantuan problem:
I didn’t feel secure enough to label myself as a poet…
It feels asinine to admit that.
I’ve already written a book that’s been read on 4 different continents!!!
But, labeling as a poet feels different.
I struggle to rhyme and follow the “rules” with meter and much of what I’ve created reads so similar. My vocabulary is limited (sure, a thesaurus helps a bit). Sometimes I’ll review 5 poems that I’ve written and they’re identical with different titles.
And then I realized how tiny of a box I’ve been putting poetry into. And then I realized: my entire life is poetry. From the illustrations I create to the conversations I share to the cup of coffee embraced on the covered deck every morning to the days where I don’t want to get out of bed: they are beautiful and holistic glimpses of my soul. Our lives are poetry by default as we learn what it is to be human. Maybe we should collectively own that concept because it feels sublime to embrace it.
I wanted to write and release this banger of a book in 2025, but that was too ambitious. In fact, I got angry at myself for not working quick enough to have it released this year and became a big grump about it. One of my close friends offered some numerology insight with me that changed my tune. She shared that 2025 is a #9 year (2+0+2+5 = 9), which symbolizes closings and endings. 2026 is a #1 year (2+0+2+6= 10, which is reduced down to 1) and represents new beginnings. Hearing that felt like a warm hug for my soul. And embodied hope. And I don’t want to create rushed half-assed work. I want to explore the very best within me and present it in a way that I am proud of.
I’m gaining momentum with this project. I’ve finished more than 30 poems and 20 illustrations to accompany. The book has a title. I’ve even illustrated the cover.
Want to see it?! Here’s a sneak peak of what’s to come:
Do you love it? (haha) The cover isn’t meant to be blurry- I can’t spoil all of the surprises that I have in store! My vision is to have this poetry book similar to Thin Spaces, but with the illustrations on steroids. I’m curating another saturated reader experience. And you better believe there’s going to be music to accompany the journey.
One of the poems and illustrations featured was originally shared last year, but I’ll drop it below because clicking links is frustrating sometimes. Sharing it was one of the moments that solidified for me that I was on the right path. Since then, I’ve attended poetry readings and been able to share my work with others several times. And each share affirms that I’m doing the right thing- even when it’s terrifying. Over the next year, I’ll sprinkle some of what I’m writing on here, as well as on Instagram (oh yeah, I made the trek back to Instagram a few weeks ago and it felt like the right time. Taking a year off was a wonderful break and I’ve been able to step into that space with a healthy approach and will share more about that later).
I’m grateful that I’m learning to embrace the poetry that’s within. And can see the poetry waltzing around me. And I can think of no better way to sign off than with a personal affirmation:
I AM a poet. And my words and experiences matter.
(P.S. yours do too!)
“SEE THE RED”
(confession #6111226)
see the red.
it’s running all over my hands.
pooling. glistening.
staining the carpet in front of me.
and oh my god, the smell-
years later, it lingers in the hairs of my nose.
is it obvious? are my hands still red?
it was only a oui bit of red.
i didn’t know any better.
i was innocent. just a boy.
just a little boy.
”be a good boy.” they’d say.
”don’t be like the others. play it safe.”
i still don’t know any better.
i didn’t know how red that red could be.
especially as it dripped down my fingers.
what if they find out? what will they think?
i clenched my hands tight.
i hid the red. the terrible thing that i’ve done.
the sin against god. against nature.
i’ve been clenching my hands ever since.
as they lower my body into the ground,
still, my hands will remain clenched.
i’ll never let them see:
how red that my hands could be.
*one of the tracks from my poetry playlist, inspiring the journey.
🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼
Hyped, brother. Also, welcome back. 😊