On December 18th, 2022, I wrote a post on Medium about
the why’s of my writing and what I’m writing about.
As we can now meet web2 and web3 tools in the same place, there it is!
After all, it’s also part of the story.
As 2022’s life’s maze ends at a blurry crossroads in my path, I reflected on what’s left on the table. What to keep. What to kill. What to heal.
Thirty-four years of life review in a two-years-exploding bomb led me to a fresh start.
Eventually, I came to the point where I doubted the writer in me. Am I good enough for this? Are people enjoying discovering the tortuous mind maze I live in? Is my poetry doing any good on Earth? Or is it another thing adding to its damaging spell? Is it even legit for me to consider myself an author? Shouldn’t I give up the belief that I’m good enough to write and be read? And...
what the f — is this poetry I’m writing anyway?
The fact that my mind maze reput me in that creative self-doubt state felt like another bomb. The first crisis happened when I was about 17 years old. It led me to 15 years of creative silence that felt like something was slowly dying in me. Writing poems and music tales have been the oxygen of my life maze since I was a child growing up in a tortuous world. So realizing that another bomb was again threatening my oxygen felt unreal. But, as the clouds living in my personal life did, the support you gave to my poems & | wordstobemusic | — coming from persons that didn’t know the crisis I was in — finally put an end to this mess.
Then, one day, I woke up reflecting on | wordstobepoetry |.
What it is, what it means for me, what adventure I want it to be — for me, for you, for us. I reflected on my poetry collections and how I don’t see them as random but somehow all sharing the same purpose and world. I reflected on my poetry’s love affair with music and how letting them fall in love with each other made me feel complete. Finally, I looked in the rearview and dived into those bits of chapters I’ve been writing since I was a child.
This made me realize I was writing bits and pieces of a world I’d imagined since childhood. A metaphoric world, living somewhere up in the clouds. A world where authenticity is the key. A world where Earth’s flaws and inequities are left behind. A world of daily adventures to preserve its essence.
A world where poetry and music meet to set us free.
Those bits and pieces slowly showed themselves as the foundations of this world. Life has sent me hints through tiny ideas, notes & tales over the years—a world to write through poetry, tales, and music. A world I know will take the time it needs to unveil its realms.
As for now, I invite you to join me on this adventure.
Over the following months and beyond, I’ll share its first shades through poetry collections telling the story of a poet/ess/ overcoming life’s maze and following music tales’ to find it.
Where is it? What is it? Who lives there? What does it hide?
We’ll discover the answers together.
All I know is that the poems we will meet are flying from there to us, bearing notes we should take care of, as their words hint at this living world’s nature, and | wordstobemusic | is this world’s favorite gateway to unwind the minds living there.
A getaway to the festival of emotions music brings to this world.
The poems, photographs & | wordstobemusic | I’ve published in the past already bear this world’s essence. When I created them, I felt they were hiding something more significant. But, it’s when I wrote | poetry sets us free | that the bigger picture revealed its nature — a poem as a tale, the first door of this world’s quest. This piece bears a unique place in this adventure.
And I’m sure it will unlock more magic in the future for anyone owning it.
Some say we must forget the past. I’m not one of those: owning a piece of this world published before 2023 will surely bring you closer to this world’s most hidden alleys in the future | that’s the power of web3 |.
At the end of the road, this world will take its written form and unveil its realms in a book — gathering a lifetime of writing into its final form. When? I have no idea. The only thing I’m sure of is that its story has been unveiling itself on its own path since I was twelve.
Slowly but surely, its shades will find our way.
The only remaining question is: will you sing our anthem along?
After all, poetry does set us free.
And that’s all my poetry needs to be.
Words truly,
S.
