When people ask me about my poetry, I say that I’m a ‘sometimes poet’. Yes, I write poetry, even perform them from time to time, yet I’ve never committed to it enough to improve my craft. The words sort of just fell out. I feel like some of my best writing came from a woman who was angry, self-loathing and lacked direction, even if I was always on the move. Think of the impact Alanis Morissette’s ‘Jagged Little Pill’ album had on the 90s woman. She gave you an anthem for unspoken bitterness and a voice for the scorned lover.

These days, I’m more grounded and have learned to focus my energy better. My relentless questioning of what is possible has taken me up incredible mountains, swimming in glacial lakes, and listening to life stories of fascinating strangers. Even better, I can say that I’m finally happy where I’ve landed in life. When I got back into poetry slam last year (my first in three years), I wanted to write poetry that reflected the changed woman who came back from Perú. I felt like a butterfly tentatively waking up from its cocoon. It was interesting to discover that even though I felt I had let go of so much already, it was much harder to break the muscle memory of my writing.

For five years I was a woman on a journey - walking away her sadness after the traumatic end of a relationship. Writing and sharing those adventures was cathartic because it gave me something tangible to focus on. Writing made me experience nature at a much greater depth - words flowed because I was more present, more open to be affected by what I was experiencing at that moment.

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