Pain sucks. It sticks and stays in ways we don’t always expect. Showing up in quiet moments like sledgehammer. Hidden behind the things we don’t say. And lurking in memories that hit out of nowhere, that break our hearts anew. And sometimes, there’s no getting rid of it. No easy fix, no resolution. But writing, especially poetry, gives it a place to go. At least for me.
I’ve always believed that poetry isn’t just about documenting emotions; it’s about reshaping it. It’s taking something overwhelming and breaking it down into words, into something I can hold without it breaking and reshaping me. A sharp, unbearable moment can become a single, clean line. A feeling that once felt too big to contain can be softened by rhythm, by metaphor, by distance.
That’s what Fragmented Echoes became for me. Some pieces are raw, untouched, exactly as they poured out of me. Others have softened over time, reshaped by reflection. But they all started the same way, with me feeling too much and having nowhere else to put it. Writing gave me a way to process, to understand, to release. Not to erase the experience, but to hold, keep and view it differently.
I think that’s what reframing should be, not pretending something didn’t happen, not forcing it into something fitting or pretty, but finding a way to live with it. To make it into something you can look at without it overwhelming you.
And maybe that’s why we turn to art when things get hard. Why we write, paint, create, because it’s not just about expression. It’s about survival. About making something out of the things that once made us feel powerless.
Have you ever done that? Taken something painful and turned it into art, music, words, anything? Did it help? Did it change how you saw it?
Let's talk about it. 🤍