I have learned to be a better writer by learning not to let things go.Â
I think my favorite feeling is when I read a poem and suddenly get that cold sensation running over my arms, the kind that happens when a feeling resurfaces before I even realize I remember it.Â
Sometimes, I write because I’m trying to understand a feeling. Other times, I write because I am trying to forget one. Then there are times when I write something down simply because I know that if I don’t, it’s going to linger in the back of my mind for the next six months, waiting for the most inconvenient moment to come back.Â
That’s probably why I’ve always found poetry to be a sort of muse. A single line can take something you thought you were done with and suddenly place it right back at the forefront of your thoughts. Not necessarily in a painful way, either. Sometimes, it’s almost comforting. You can read a few lines and find yourself remembering a person, a place, a specific summer, or a version of yourself from years ago.
It’s strange how our minds can hold onto feelings long after we have convinced ourselves we’ve moved on. Like a little sacred memory box, it hides from us until it’s needed.
Celia Martinez is one of the more modern poets who made me notice that.Â
Her poems are often about herself, lovers, life, or even the random little things that probably would not seem important if you were just talking about them out loud. But somehow, when she puts them into a poem, they become worth looking at. I think that’s what I find so fascinating about her writing. Her personality is everywhere without her having to say, this is who I am. You just know. Her humor, her honesty, the way she looks at love and herself—it all becomes part of her writing.Â
Furthermore, her poems don’t just stay hers. They bring people together. There is something about hearing her read her own words, the way she pronounces certain lines and lets them breathe, that makes the poem feel alive. The words carry the page differently when they are spoken. You start to realize that maybe poetry was never meant to be something we quietly keep to ourselves. A feeling can start with one person, become a poem, and then somehow find its way into someone else.Â
This has made me think a lot about my own poetry. I used to feel like poems needed to have a point, like I needed to know exactly what I was trying to accomplish before I could write it. Now, I think some of my favorite poems are the ones that started with me having absolutely no idea what I was doing. Just feelings that needed space to live on paper.Â
Celia also incorporates Spanish terms into her poetry in a way that feels entirely natural. She doesn’t pause to make sure the reader understands every word. They are simply part of her writing. It reminds me that culture doesn’t always have to be the subject of someone’s art to be present in it. Sometimes, it’s as simple as using mi amor instead of my love and letting the words belong exactly where they are.Â
Maybe that’s why poetry means so much to me. It gives feelings somewhere to go when I don’t quite know what to do with them. I can write something down, close the notebook, and go make dinner like nothing happened. Then, months later, I’ll find the same poem again and suddenly I’m back there—feeling exactly what I felt when I originally wrote it.
I think that’s what I love most about poetry: you can write something entirely alone, and somehow, somewhere, another person can read it and recognize themselves in it. Your words leave your hands, travel through someone else’s life, and come back carrying something you didn’t know you shared.