Everyone thinks writing a poetry book is about sitting in a café, scribbling beautiful lines into a notebook, and waiting for inspiration to strike. Sometimes, yes, in the beginning, that’s exactly what it was like. But the truth is, writing a book is equal parts, joy and chaos, and for me, often more chaos than joy.
When I started putting together my first collection, I thought it would be as simple as pulling together my best poems and arranging them in an order that felt nice. I quickly learned that a book isn’t just a stack of poems. It’s a living, breathing story. Suddenly, I was obsessing over structure, tone, and whether two pieces flowed together or clashed. Some nights, I stayed up, rearranging poems like puzzle pieces, only to wake up and realize none of it worked.
And here’s the truth I don’t see many writers admit: I didn’t find writing my book particularly rewarding. I’m a perfectionist, and even after it was finished, I kept wanting to change things, a line here, a section there, sometimes even whole poems. The urge to keep editing never really went away.
What I’m learning is that it’s okay to feel that way. It’s okay to want your work to evolve. But at some point, you have to let go. A book, unlike a blog post or a diary entry, has to be finished. And maybe that’s the hardest part for me, realizing that art doesn’t have to be flawless to matter. Sometimes the “imperfections” are what make it alive, what make it human.
If you’ve ever dreamed of writing your own poetry collection, know this: it doesn’t need to be perfect to be powerful. The vulnerability is what makes it worth reading. And sometimes letting it go is the bravest part of the whole process.
For me, writing a poetry book has been equal parts messy, magical, and maddening. Have you ever had to let go of something, even though you still wanted to keep perfecting it?
Ryon Maverick 