The Poem That Named It All

When I first wrote The Truth About Heartbreak, I didn’t know it would become the title of my book.

It started as one of many; another late-night piece of writing, another attempt to put words around something I couldn’t quite explain. But as soon as I finished it, I knew. This was the one. This was what the whole journey had been about.

For me, The Truth About Heartbreak isn’t just a poem. It’s an interpretation; my own reflection on what heartbreak really feels like when it’s stripped back to its rawest form. Not the tidy, cinematic kind. The real kind.

The kind that tears through your chest. That leaves you breathless, scattered, and unsure of who you are without the person or the version of life you thought you’d have. It’s heavy, chaotic, and sometimes wordless, until you force the words out just to make sense of the ache.

That’s what I tried to capture when I wrote it. The moment when heartbreak stops being a story about someone else, and becomes a mirror for yourself.

Most of my poems live somewhere in that space; between pain and understanding, between loss and rediscovery.

They come from real moments of heartbreak, from grief I hadn’t processed, from the parts of me that needed to be seen. It made sense that this poem, the one that tried to hold all of that, became the title of the book.

The Truth About Heartbreak wasn’t chosen because it sounded beautiful. It was chosen because it was honest. It said exactly what I wanted the book to say, that heartbreak has a truth all of its own. It changes you. It hurts you. But it also shows you who you are when everything else falls away.

When I read that poem now, I still feel the ache of where it began. But I also feel gratitude, because it marked the moment my pain became art.

It was the first time I realised that writing could hold the things I couldn’t, and that maybe, through my words, someone else might find the courage to face their own truth too.