76 Pages

 76 pages. That’s how long it took me to type out every poem I’ve ever written. I never realized just how many pieces I had until I sat down and put them all together. For the first time, I read each one, back to back, in the order I wrote them, and it was like seeing my life play out on the page.

The funny thing is, I never set out to tell a story. Each poem came from a different moment, a different feeling, but reading them all together, it felt like I was retracing my steps through the years—like each poem was a snapshot of where I was at that time. Some of those moments were beautiful, others painful, but they all told a part of who I am today.

It was strange, but also kind of freeing. There were pieces I had almost forgotten about, emotions I thought I had buried deep. And then there were the poems that I remember writing in the middle of the night, when I couldn't sleep, or during those random quiet moments when the words just poured out.

Looking back through it all, I feel a mix of pride and sadness, but mostly gratitude. Gratitude for how far I’ve come, for the moments that nearly broke me but didn’t, and for the ones that reminded me there’s still light in the world. My life, told through poetry, isn’t perfect, but it’s real. And maybe that’s what makes it mine.
Who knew that 76 pages could hold so much?