Where my love for poetry all started

 

 

I have a faint memory of where my love for poetry and stories really blossomed. My first trip to the library, rows and rows of books. There are all sorts of places to travel to without setting foot outside in the big, bad world. No, maybe it was a pastor in London gifting me Matilda by Roald Dahl, my first book I did not have to give back after two weeks. It could be when my father gave me Shakespeare (though too young to truly understand), the intensity caught in my chest. The influence from my Father and Grandfather, I’m sure cemented my love for literature. I remember my Grandfather showing me his collection of anthologies of the greatest poems ever written. 

Writing poetry, reading, creating feels like home. It feels like me. Fear has always followed me around like the grim reaper. Where I come from, being anything remotely close to a writer, author, poet, or anything out of what society calls the norm is reserved for the special ones. I never fit into the category of special, or so I thought. My overview of the world was always: “You are not like them."  For a long time, I blamed past ideologies, the projecting fears of others, and peer pressure to be something I was not. The truth is, I was just scared—scared of what I truly look like in my own freedom. Free from my own bad side.

We all have a bad side, a side that stops us from being the best version of ourselves.

I might not be the best, but I am working towards being the best me, the free me, and finding acceptance in my flaws and strengths. Here on “The Daily S.S. Poetry” is a space for true self-discovery, where poetry, inner thoughts, and the simple journey of life is shared.