Introduction

Originally written in December 2024, this poem remains one of my favorites—and I’m thrilled to share it again. I’ve always leaned into a journal-style of writing. It’s raw, honest, and connects me to you in the most beautiful way. The freedom that writing gives us—to explore every kind of expression—is nothing short of incredible.

I’m not claiming to master any one style, but just knowing I can stretch and try new forms? That’s a gift I’ll never stop being grateful for.

*Sure, there are a few people out there who don’t love that… and to them I say, thank you. You’ve only added fuel to my creative fire. It’s usually the ones who won’t or can’t that have the most to say about those who do. *

So to my fellow writers and creatives—those who keep showing up and pouring it out—I see you. I cheer you on! Keep going! 💗

Skelly-📝

The Writer’s Mind – The Writer’s Process

I write to unravel, to feel, to explore—
To patch what is torn, to reopen the door.
A way to process, to heal, to restore,
To name the ache I can’t ignore.

Through chaos and beauty, through silence and pain,
The words rush in like a cleansing rain.
They don’t ask permission, don’t come in neat—
They crash like thunder, raw and complete.

It’s how I face what the past won’t hide,
And chase the wonder I hold inside.
Each word a lantern, each phrase a map—
To joy’s warm corners or sorrow’s trap.

As the ink spills out, I start to breathe—
Unclenching my fists, uncluttering grief.
A storm that clears, a wild release—
Until blooming begins and I find my peace.

It’s a purge, a party, a beautiful mess—
A soul-to-sentence kind of process.
Each trauma unspooled, each joy set free,
Heals a small part, roots deep in me.

Each letter a seed, each thought a sprout—
From pain, from hope, from self-doubt.
From the attic of my mind, the cry of my heart—
It spills onto pages—each ending, each start.

It’s an oak tree rising, stubborn and wise—
A masterpiece made of truth and tries.
Whether memory or dream, the now or unseen,
Writing reveals the space between.

With fingers tapping, my soul finds air—
I write to release, repair, declare.
I can’t imagine a world without this peace—
This endless adventure, my purest release

SK-

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