Just because I am poetic in nature doesn’t mean I am blind to the realities of life.
My head may wander through metaphors, but my feet are still on the ground.
I can write about the moon and still pay my bills on time.
I can dream of love and still understand the cost of survival.

People often mistake sensitivity for softness as if seeing beauty means you ignore the harshness of the world. But the truth is, i often see more, not less. i notice the cracks in the system, the silences between words, the invisible burdens people carry. i feel the pain beneath perfection. That awareness doesn’t make us weak; it makes me awake.

Poetry, for me, isn’t an escape from reality it’s a way of decoding it.
It’s how I make sense of chaos, how I turn confusion into clarity.
While others might drown in the noise of life, I choose to listen for rhythm because even storms have a beat if you pay attention.

Being poetic doesn’t mean I live in fantasy.
It means I refuse to let the world turn me numb.
I still work hard, make decisions, take responsibility but I do it with awareness, not automation.

So yes, I am poetic. I think deeply, feel strongly, and speak softly.
But don’t mistake that for ignorance of life’s rough edges.
I see them clearly I just choose to meet them with grace, not bitterness.

Because for me, being poetic is not about escaping reality.
It’s about transforming it one line, one act, one truth at a time.