I started writing at a very young age, but it truly became a part of me after the death of the first boy I loved. I was sixteen. Back then, I didn’t know how to process the depth of what I was feeling. I didn’t know where to place the grief, the confusion, the pain that sat so heavily inside my heart. So I began pouring my emotions onto the pages of poetry. Writing became the only place where I felt safe enough to unravel.

What began as pain slowly became healing. I used words to soften my wounds, to hold the parts of myself that felt broken, and to make sense of emotions too heavy to carry alone. The more I wrote, the more I healed. And somewhere along the way, I realized something beautiful. When we share our pain honestly and vulnerably, it doesn’t only help us heal, it helps others heal too.

That realization changed everything for me. I fell deeply in love with the power of words, with the way language can reach into the quietest corners of the human heart and remind someone they are seen, understood, and not so alone. Words became more than expression for me. They became connection and comfort.

And even now, after all these years, I still write for the girl I once was. The one trying to survive her feelings in silence, hoping someone, somewhere, might understand.

And my belief has always been that if my words help even one person, one soul, then I’ve done what I came here to do. 🧡