So, I Started Writing

My name is Tina. I'm an Aquarius. I don't like piña coladas, but I do like getting caught in the rain. My love language is—oh, wait. So sorry. I write so many bios for dating apps that I got confused. Unless, of course, someone might be interested in me... Jesse? Jesse? No pressure, Jesse. (see Fab Five for reference)

I first fell in love with poetry in seventh grade when I discovered Robert Frost's Nothing Gold Can Stay while reading S.E. Hinton's The Outsiders. That love was cemented when the movie came out and C. Thomas Howell recited the poem to Johnny. Although that might have had more to do with hormones than poetry. There wasn't an unattractive actor in that entire movie.

Not long after, I started writing a little myself. I still have the notebooks from those days, which is saying something. I've spent much of my life having to pack up, grab whatever I could, and go. I'm not particularly sentimental about physical things (emotional baggage is another story. I have a death grip on that). But I've held on to my notebooks and my teddy bear, Pandy (pictured above), who was made for me by an aunt when I was born.

I wanted to go to college and major in creative writing. My stepdad told me I'd never survive as a writer and needed to choose something more practical. So, I went into accounting. That's the simplified version, but it'll do.

Fast-forward what feels like a million lifetimes.

In January 2025, I started seeing a therapist I genuinely connected with and she suggested I start writing letters to people. The first was a letter to my younger self.

The idea was to tell that little girl that none of what was happening to her was her fault. That she didn't deserve any of it. But I already knew that.

As a child, I knew things were wrong. I knew men weren't supposed to beat women and children. I knew I wasn't supposed to be crouched down in the backseat of a car while my dad robbed liquor stores. I knew my life was shitty. What I didn't understand was why everyone seemed to think I was the problem for refusing to accept it. For throwing temper tantrums. For fighting so hard to want something different.

During our sessions, my therapist would have me read the letters aloud, and then we'd talk about issues, trauma that came up. It was probably during my fourth letter that she interrupted me.

"I really enjoy listening to your letters. The subject is heartbreaking, but I can feel your pain and sadness. Have you ever considered writing? Telling stories?"

So, I started writing again.

Mostly to make sense of my emotions: sadness, anger, heartache. Some stories, but mostly poems.

My poems are rarely love poems, but they're always about love. Wanting love. Lacking love. Losing love. Trying to understand love.

I often wonder why I keep posting on Vocal. What am I hoping to accomplish? If I'm being honest, I think my reason is a lot like Allison Reynolds' reason for showing up to Saturday detention in The Breakfast Club:

I don't have anything better to do.

One piece of mine that I liked that didn’t get many readings is called Changing the Subject. It was sort of my New Year Revelation Resolution poem about who I was going to be in 2026!! How I was so transformed by 2025. Yeah, I am completely delusional most of the times.

I will admit I don’t like the ending line, but I'm not sure what I want to do with those lines. I am open to suggestions but constructive, not mean. I am a crybaby. You will hurt my feelings.

If you have made it this far, you are almost at the end and I truly appreciate you taking time to read what I wrote. Also, I promise that for A. Bell's Tell Me About You - December 2026 edition, I will focus on fun facts!