Feedback

I didn’t brace myself for the feedback because I knew if I did then I would overthink. I would only prepare for disappointment. It is insane how many emotions I have experienced since the start of this project.

I should’ve.

I sent the poems out like loose change. No instructions. No context. Just letting them circulate, seeing where they landed. I told myself not to hover. Not to wait by my phone like I was expecting a call back.

But the moment I hit send…I was.

What came back wasn’t just applause. It was familiarity. People circling lines I forgot I wrote, holding them up like, this part knew me. That feeling—someone recognizing themselves inside something you made— was something I never felt before.

A few messages stayed open on my screen longer than the others. Short ones. Careful ones. The kind that don’t over-explain because they don’t need to. That’s how I knew it worked.

It made me realize these poems were never just mine. Even when I was writing alone, they were already leaning outward. Waiting for other hands. Other histories. Other quiet understandings.

The feedback didn’t finish the book.

It didn’t solve anything.

But it did something better.

It made the work feel less like a monologue and more like a frequency someone else could tune into. Like I wasn’t talking to myself anymore. Like the room got bigger without me having to raise my voice.