As a published poet, there are two questions I frequently receive from writers who are also hoping to publish their work:
How did you write (or, how did you finally finish) your poetry collection?
How are you able to be so vulnerable in your work?
These two questions are vultures that circle my laptop (or my journal or my notes app) — in other words, my work (and motivation) is doomed to die when I focus too much on one or the other.
So, instead of answering these questions traditionally, I’d like to offer a reframe that helps me push through the end of a project (and allows me to put the most tender parts of myself in the work, too).
Q: How do you write a poetry collection?
Reframe: What parts of this story/subject/theme do I need to include in a collection for it to feel like I’ve done it justice? or, what is needed to tell the story I want to tell?
Writing a poetry collection isn’t (always) like writing a novel, where there’s a very clear Save the Cat-esque process of finding each beat and dissecting each act. While you can do that with a poetry collection, it’s rarely that cut-and-dry (in the beginning, at least).
My poetry collections almost always start in my journal. I often don’t realize that I’ve got the bones of a new collection until I look back at what I’ve written.
When I started paper girl and the knives that made her, I knew I had an assortment of one-liners and short poems in my journal, my notes app, and yes, old tumblr posts.

First, I read through everything. During this reading, I noted each time a poem or poem-to-be contained a specific theme. Eventually, this created groupings of poems/journal entries that mentioned sexual assault, depression, self-harm, love, and heartbreak. Because I roughly knew that I wanted to tell the story of my recovery journey, this became the backbone of the collection.
Next, I expand these pieces. The entries that only had one or two lines worth keeping became the first or final lines of a poem, or they acted as prompts that helped me find the poem. The pieces that already read as poems went through rounds of editing until they were better poems.
Then I look for the arc. Using these poems, I created the story that I wanted to tell. I knew I wanted to start with poems about depression and end with poems about recovery, so I grouped/organized the poems this way. Everything else — love, heartbreak, SA, etc. — found its way into the middle to propel the story forward.
Finally, I fill in the gaps. In the first draft, there weren’t nearly as many poems about love as I’d wanted, so I wrote more and added them to the manuscript. I discovered that I wanted to include poems about race, so I wrote some and found a spot for those in the rough structure I’d established. There were too many poems about SA, so I removed a few and replaced them with poems I’d written about self-harm, instead. Then, once I had a collection of poems that I could very confidently say touched on everything I wanted to discuss while keeping that narrative arc I’d established, I had my first draft.
Q: How are you able to be so vulnerable in your work?
Reframe: Where does this collection need more of me/my voice? or where do I find myself shying away from my voice, and how can I lean into that more?
For me, the vulnerability aspect really takes shape during the revision process. Once I have a draft, it’s easier to see where I’m leaning too much on tropes, clichés, metaphors, or other poetic devices instead of embracing my voice.
My general rule of thumb: If it makes me nervous or feels uncomfortable sharing, it’s probably worth exploring more. Please, please, please know — it’s not good to share anything you’re not ready to share. Sometimes, it’s not safe, but other times, you might not be ready to disclose the really intimate parts of your life through your poetry, and that’s okay. Vulnerability doesn’t always look like detailing the most traumatic thing that’s ever happened to you for the entire world to read. It can be something as simple as letting your readers know the first thoughts you have in the morning, or how your heart feels when you’re with someone you love.
When thinking about vulnerability in your writing, it might also be helpful for you to ask yourself a few questions:
Would I, or anyone I love, be in danger if I published this?
Will I be perpetually stressed about loved ones/friends/family/people from high school finding the work (so much so that it negatively impacts the process)?
Would I be willing to talk about this content with someone else if asked about it?
and, most importantly:
Who am I writing this for?
Why do I want others to read this?
Truthfully, there are no right or wrong answers to (most of ) these questions. You could say, yes, it terrifies me that my relatives might read this, but it won’t stop me. And as long as you’re okay with that, go for it.
Some will also say there’s a difference between vulnerability and flat-out oversharing. Don’t let that stop you from writing. Write what feels good and what needs to be written first, and then you can go back and make those cuts later with a little more discernment.
In paper girl, I definitely toed the line of trauma-dumpy and vulnerable, but I don’t regret any of it. When it was published, I was often told, “This was too difficult/triggering for me to read.” I say, “Thank you for trying,” but want to say, “Girl, it was difficult for me to live.”
People are going to chop and screw and remix and water down your story, anyway. Do what feels good to you, and if there are any major red flags or concerns, your editors or beta readers will let you know.

tl;dr?
You already have so much content—look in your journals, in your notes app, or on your receipt paper. The poems are already there, even if they don’t look like poems yet.
If you don’t have the content yet, don’t stress too much about it. It’s the perfect time to start your daily* practice (*I don’t even write poems every day, much less journal every day, but you know what I mean!). Be more intentional about taking time to write, even if it’s just a few lines a day. There’s no rush; you’re not in a race.
Collect all the poems/things that could be poems and sort them by theme/subject. All the love poems go in one doc, all the breakup poems go in another.
Find the narrative arc you want to tell. How do you want readers to feel at the start of your collection? The middle? The end? Take what you have and build your manuscript’s backbone.
Fill in the gaps! Once you understand the story you want to tell, look for the pieces of that story that are missing from your current draft, and write those poems.
Just write. Don’t worry about being or saying “too much” — the best way to write a poem that you like (and you are the most important person in your audience) is to write what feels good. In the editing process, you can turn up or turn down the vulnerability.
Important notes:
There is no right or wrong way to write a poetry collection. I know people who write all the poems for their collections during a month-long residency. I know writers who can only write using prompts, and others who take years to create a loose structure.
Take your time. This is just what works for me — for now. The writing process is incredibly individual, ever-changing, and should feel like yours. Regardless, I hope this perspective is at least a little helpful — it’s gotten me this far :)
write with me in new york this summer!
applications for the Interrogation Writing Retreat (Aug 15-17 in Grand Island, NY) are still open! we’ve got a good group so far, and are really excited! feel free to reach out if you have questions, or you can check out our faq. remember: you can apply with a friend :)
poem of the week
i don’t share my work in this space nearly as often as i share the work of others, but since i talked a lot about paper girl, i wanted to include a poem from the collection <3

song of the week:
on this episode of “songs i’m listening to obsessively, to a concerning level:” Crazier Things by Chelsea Cutler (with Noah Kahan)
all the love, all the warmth, all the light,
housekeeping:
icymi: i made a doc full of book recommendations for people who want to read more poetry but don’t know where to start!
don’t forget to complete your one click today to support aid efforts in Palestine
unfold: poetry + prose, is available on amazon, bookshop, indigo, b&n, or wherever you get books <3
you can still buy paper girl from amazon, barnes & noble, indigo, or your local indie.
i love you. and i see you. and i am so glad you're here.
who i am: a writer, a lover, and a very Black + queer person. i love deeply, forget rarely, and spend most of my time cuddling with my dog, my cat, and my partner.
who i'm not: a therapist, mental health professional, or emergency service. i love hearing the stories of your experiences, but please don't send explicit or triggering details of your story without my prior consent.
if you're in crisis, please call 911 or use any of the following resources:
National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 988
National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-SAFE (7233)
Crisis Text Line: Text HELP to 741741
S.A.F.E. (Self Abuse Finally Ends): 1-800-DONT-CUT (366-8288)
Eating Disorders Awareness and Prevention: 1-800-931-2237
RAINN (Rape, Abuse, & Incest National Network): 1-800-656-4673
The Trevor Project: 1-866-488-7386
Such great advice, Ari!!! Might have to start sending this to people who ask me the same questions!!
I love those reframing questions!