There are lines I write that never make it past the page. Not because they aren’t strong enough. Not because they don’t belong. But because they feel too close.
Too honest in a way that can’t be softened. Too revealing in a way that doesn’t leave much room to hide.
Most of the time, those are the lines I delete first.
It doesn’t happen dramatically.
There’s no big decision. No moment of certainty.
Just a pause.
A sentence sitting there a little too exposed. A feeling I’m not sure I want to see outside of myself.
So I adjust it.
Make it more poetic.
More distant.
Or I remove it entirely.
And the piece survives— but something inside it doesn’t.
I wanted you to stay
more than I wanted to admit
That line sat in a draft for a long time.
It felt too simple.
Too direct.
There was nowhere to hide inside it. No metaphor to soften what it meant. I almost changed it into something more “beautiful.” Something less obvious. But the truth is— it wasn’t meant to be beautiful.
It was meant to be true.
I think we’re taught, in small ways, to protect ourselves from being seen.
To speak in versions. To round the edges of what we feel so it fits more comfortably in other people’s hands.
And that instinct follows us into our writing.
We don’t just write what we feel— we write what feels safe to share.
I’m not as over it
as I pretend to be
There are so many lines like that.
Ones that don’t ask to be admired,
only acknowledged.
They don’t sound like poetry at first. They sound like something you might say quietly,
to no one in particular. And maybe that’s why they matter.
Because the lines we almost don’t share are usually the ones someone else is waiting to hear. Not because they’re perfect.But because they’re familiar.
Because they echo something unspoken.
Because they make someone pause and think—
I thought I was the only one.
I miss who I was
before I learned to hide parts of myself
That one stayed with me.
Not because I wanted to share it,
but because I couldn’t quite let it go.
And I think that’s the difference.
The lines that leave easily
were never asking much of you.
The ones that stay—
the ones that sit quietly, waiting—
those are the ones that cost something.
Writing honestly doesn’t mean sharing everything. Some lines are meant to remain yours. Some truths are still becoming. But I’ve learned this:
If a line scares you a little,
if it makes you hesitate,
if it feels like stepping into something without knowing how it will be received—
you might be closer than you think.
maybe the line you’re avoiding
is the one that would set you free
Before you go, I want to leave you with this:
Writing Prompt
Write the line you almost don’t want anyone to read.
Don’t edit it.
Don’t explain it.
Just let it exist.
If you feel like sharing, leave it in the comments—
or keep it somewhere only you can see.
Both count.
Atticus x The Giving Keys
A small note, before you go—
We’ve partnered with The Giving Keys to create something simple: poetry you can carry. Words like BLOOM, ENOUGH, STAY WILD, MAGIC, and LOVE — meant to meet you where you are, and then travel further than you.
Each piece is a reminder, not just to hold onto the message, but to pass it on when the time feels right. Because sometimes the words we need most are the ones we’re meant to give away.
A portion of proceeds supports Chrysalis, helping people find employment and rebuild their lives.
Take the word when you need it.
Let it go when someone else does. 🖤
Love from the shadows,
xx Atticus 🖤
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