Charlotte Dawn Poetry

Being a writer means living in two worlds at once—the one your feet stand in, and the one your mind won’t stop building. Some days the words pour out like they’ve been waiting at the door, eager, grateful to finally be let in. Other days they scatter, refusing to be caught, and you wonder if you’ve somehow misplaced your own voice.

There are moments of electric clarity, when a single line feels like a small miracle. And there are nights when every sentence feels heavy, uncooperative, too fragile to carry what you mean.

Yet you keep going—because even in the lull, even in the frustration, you know the truth: writing is the only way you make sense of the noise inside you. It’s the lighthouse in your fog, the pulse you follow back to yourself.

The ups and downs don’t stop. They shape you. And still, somehow, the next blank page always feels like possibility..

My poetry began as a promise — a quiet vow made to my late father to never stop writing. In every poem, I try to capture a moment, a breath, a flicker of truth — something that might otherwise pass unseen. My words are fragments of living: the ordinary and the extraordinary, the joy that lingers, and the grief that shapes us.

From a young age, I understood that words are not just sounds or ink — they are bridges. They can transport us beyond where we stand, shift how we see ourselves, and offer a kind of shelter in their rhythm. A single line can change the way we carry our pain. A simple phrase can remind us that we belong to something larger than ourselves.

Writing, for me, is both remembrance and revelation. It is a way of holding close what matters and releasing what must go. It is how I speak to my father still — and how I speak to those who need to be reminded that they are seen, they are valued, and they are not alone.

Because in poems, we find mirrors that do not judge — only shimmer softly with what we are, and what we hope to become.

© Charlotte Dawn, 2025. All rights reserved.