I have often been asked why I write. For a long time, I searched for an elegant answer the kind of phrase you underline in old books.
But the truth is simpler, and undoubtedly less noble...
I write because my skin is too thin. Because every memory, every storm, and every burst of laughter leaves a mark I do not know how to erase. So, I take up this pen. I let the ink flow like black blood onto the paper, so that the pain might change sides. So that it is no longer within me, but there, right before your eyes.
This collection is not a life lesson. It is an inventory. You will find parents who refuse to grow up, brothers who leave too soon, love that fray, and babies who smell of sunshine.
Do not look for order here. Life has none. It is a mess of debris and stars. It is simply my way of remaining dignified when everything cracks.
Welcome into my skin.
KAMU SEDANG MEMBACA
In a poet's skin
PuisiWelcome to my head. It's a bit of a mess, scattered with debris of childhood dreams and adult truths that hit too hard. I was told poetry was noble; I've turned it into something that feels like a bruised knee: it hurts, but you can't help pressing...
