The need for poetry is greater than ever. I find crevices in words I want to escape in only to make sense of things. Never before did I take song lyrics so seriously, meticulously deep diving into all the possible meanings and then some more. Sentences pour out into notebooks until all pens run dry. Anaïs Nin describes it so perfectly: “I believe one writes because one has to create a world in which one can live.”
Sometimes, and especially in these times, I feel like nothing I write makes any sense. Why express my feelings on a website some people read but most people don’t? While the world is on fire? I guess my answer to this is quite simple: to have something to hold on to. To take the time to see the big in the small, to create some kind of space, imaginary or real. Holding on to what's close, hugging it a bit tighter every day.
So here we are, in the midst of world and social media madness, customers at work who make my eyes roll out of their sockets and cosy nights on the couch with sweet friends and wine, this is just me trying my best by putting one foot in front of the other, if possible with a spring in my step, writing down words falling from drowsy eyes and an overflowing heart. Because – and I quote Anaïs Nin again: “when I don’t write, I feel my world shrinking. I feel I am in a prison. I feel I lose my fire and my colour.”
And so, I write.
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