Poetry isn’t written by people who have it all figured out. It comes from people in the mess, surviving themselves and still willing to write it all down. It comes from looking closely. From staying open. From turning toward your life with tenderness and letting it ruin you in all the best ways.

I want a life that isn’t obsessed with optimisation. One that doesn’t reward me for how much I can squeeze out of a day or an hour or my fleeting creative nature. One where ‘enough’ isn’t a finish line I never seem to reach. One where productivity isn’t the measure of worth, and rest doesn’t require justification.