Not only is it my 35th birthday, but it’s also the release day of my second poetry book, You Let Me Fly.

Get Your Copy of You Let Me Fly

This collection has been years in the making and explores love, heartbreak, grief, healing, and self-discovery. It is a book that grew alongside me through seasons of change, and today I finally get to share it with you.

If you’ve supported my writing over the years, thank you. Whether you’ve read my poems, subscribed to this newsletter, shared my work, or purchased a book, your encouragement has helped me continue creating.

You Let Me Fly is now available:
https://a.co/d/09VGHMi5

I hope these poems find the people who need them and remind them they are not alone.

Thank you for being here.

With love,

Jo-Anne

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There’s something special about releasing a book on your birthday. At first, I simply wanted to celebrate both milestones together. Over time, it became something more: a reminder to myself that I can do hard things.

This book has been years in the making. Along the way, life asked me to slow down, heal, and grow in ways I never expected. I had originally hoped to release it sooner, but I needed time to focus on my well-being and find my footing again. Looking back, I’m grateful I gave myself that space.

Now, in a much better place, I finally get to share this collection with you.

You Let Me Fly explores heartbreak, grief, love, and self-discovery. While it carries some of the same themes found in my first book, it ventures into more vulnerable territory, touching on separation, divorce, loss, and what it means to rebuild yourself after life changes you.

More than anything, I hope readers find pieces of themselves within these pages. If my words can make someone feel a little less alone, then this book has done what it was meant to do.

Thank you for being here and for supporting my work. It means more than you know.

With gratitude,

Jo-Anne

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it’s the one time we are able to let go—

the trees tremble—the leaves

make peace with holy ground.

it’s the most naked the trees look,

they shed all of their glory,

and become one with the earth.

it’s the one time of year,

we die a slow death,

are buried, to be born again.

This second book stretched me in ways I didn’t think a book could.
Writing has always been a spiritual practice for me, but this book… this book is proof of it.

The themes—heartbreak, grief, divorce—are all based on lived experience. And most of it was written while I was still in it. Still healing. Still navigating diagnosis. Still holding the weight of motherhood, partnership, and business.

There were days I didn’t think I’d finish.
But somehow, I did.

Finishing this book became an act of self-love.
A way of returning to myself—even after everything had changed.

And now, this book is no longer just for me.
It’s for you.

For anyone learning how to keep going while everything feels heavy.
For those who write to survive.
For those who are becoming.

Thank you for being here. More soon.

With love,
Jo-Anne

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the weight of your presence

and the sting of your goodbye.

How closure now lives

in the language we both understand,

how you were once a stranger,

and now you leave with pieces of me.

I don’t want to trail behind you,

nor do I want to move too far ahead.

Can we just stay right here?

Where we first met—

somewhere between newness and fate,

when your affirmations were holy,

and your laughter felt like an exhale.

Please do not become a shadow.

The bigger question is:

when you look out into the sea,

will you think of me?

My love lives at shore.

and if you ever long for me,

I hope you’ll meet me there.

About the Poem:

MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE reflects on someone who’s already gone, but not entirely. It holds the weight of lingering love, the ache of unfinished chapters, and the fragile hope that maybe—just maybe—they’ll think of you, too.

I wrote this to explore the in-between space of connection and letting go. That emotional shoreline where we wait—not necessarily for someone to return, but for meaning to arrive.

If you've ever loved someone who couldn't stay, this one's for you.

Ever felt this way too? Drop a comment—I’d love to know.

Being there wasn’t easy. The meds made me feel strange, and I didn’t have anyone to talk to. But poetry held me together. Words became my closest friend.

I asked the secretary for paper and a pen, retreated to my room, and started writing. Right then and there, poetry became my therapy.

April is National Poetry Month, and many poets take on the challenge of writing a poem a day for 30 days—whether through NaPoWriMo or Escapril. I’m participating this year, excited to push my creativity to new heights.

Even if you’re not a poet, I invite you to explore poetry this month. Read a poem a day, or dive into a style you’ve never tried before. It’s such a beautiful art form with endless possibilities.

Sending you all my love,

Jo.

Last month, I shared that I’d be opening pre-orders for my second poetry book, You Let Me Fly. However, due to unforeseen circumstances, I’ve decided to push back the release. My new goal is to launch my sophomore poetry collection in fall 2025.

As mentioned in the heading, I was recently diagnosed with bipolar 1. This diagnosis has been a long time coming—shaped by both life’s challenges and the reality that mental illness is biological. At 15, I spent time in a mental health ward, where I was diagnosed with minor depression and psychosis. Mental illness isn’t new to me; I’ve been navigating these struggles since I was a teenager.

Writing has been my anchor. Poetry, along with therapy and medication, has helped me process and manage my mental health. Some days are tough, but I’m taking it one day at a time, learning to embrace both the highs and lows.

I hope this email finds you well. If anything I’ve shared resonates with you, feel free to reply—I’d love to hear from you.

With love,

Jo

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Re-entering the online space in late June of this year felt like stepping into uncharted territory. It wasn’t just about sharing my work—it was about rebuilding my sense of self. Learning how to connect, how to show up, how to use my voice again. It was daunting, but I was determined.

I met incredible humans who reminded me that growth is rarely a solitary process. It happens in conversations, in shared moments, and through inspiration. My online writing community across multiple platforms (i.e. Instagram, Threads) helped me come out of my comfort zone. They pushed me creatively, emotionally, and spiritually in ways I hadn’t experienced before.

They are all beautiful and we are all interconnected. I was challenged to dig deeper, write more vulnerably, and confront truths I might have otherwise ignored. At times, it felt overwhelming, but looking back, I see it for what it was: a catalyst. It propelled me toward some of my best work yet.

Through this experience, I completed my second poetry book—a project that had been both a dream and a burden since I started writing it in 2019. It’s a culmination of everything I’ve learned, lived, and felt over the past few years. And while the process was not easy, it reminded me why I write: to make sense of the intangible, to give language to the inexpressible, and to connect with others in ways that transcend time and space.

The scars I carry from this journey are not marks of defeat but proof of growth. As I prepare for the year ahead, I feel grateful for everything—both the joys and the pains—that has led me here.

Here’s to more creation, connection, and courage in 2025.

xo, jo

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they were strung closest to the ceiling.

the parol is shining through my window—

you made it with your hands

and your own brand of magic

the smell of fresh pine

filled our small apartment

although under our tree was not full,

my heart felt otherwise

you made me love this holiday.

will you be home for christmas?

the little girl in me is asking

yet, you are not here anymore.

maligayang pasko.

miss na miss kita.

Behind the Poem:

This poem brought me to tears while writing it. It’s deeply layered with grief and love, as it’s about my late father, Manuel Santos. Christmas was his favorite holiday, and naturally, it became mine too. Pictured above are traditional Filipino lanterns, parols, often displayed as Christmas decorations. My dad used to craft these by hand and proudly hang them on our apartment’s window sill—a simple yet meaningful tradition in our small space.

In Tagalog, “Maligayang Pasko” means “Merry Christmas,” and “miss na miss kita” translates to “I miss you so much.” Tagalog was my dad’s first language, and weaving his language into this poem felt like a heartfelt way to honor him.

The holidays can be a tough time for many, especially when the absence of loved ones feels heavier than usual. If you’re navigating those emotions, please know they are valid. You’re not alone—I’m here to hold space for you.

the trees are stripped bare now,

gusts of wind are coming in from the east.

do you feel it?

winter is coming.

winter is coming.

winter is coming.

i hope you’re keeping warm.

this is the longest season.

don’t hold your breath—

the night is dark as death,

and i know you should be

the last thing on my mind,

but that’s just it…

you’re hard to forget.

we’ll never be

what we used to be—

i’ve given you

so much of my power already.

i just want my heart back…

it’s nestled somewhere

between today’s newness

and yesterday’s grief.

I first released this spoken word video in the winter of 2018 to promote my debut poetry book, Growing Wings. Creating it was a significant investment—I spent over $500 for just one minute of footage (and that’s not counting the wardrobe).

Looking back, I try not to regret that chapter of my journey. I poured my hard-earned money into supporting local artists and creatives, and while it was disheartening that some of them didn’t support my book when it launched, I’m grateful for the lessons it taught me.

The silver lining? Growing Wings became a bestseller on Amazon in multiple categories, and I discovered that true support often comes from unexpected places—like strangers on the internet or the loyal readers who continually buy my work. For that, I’m eternally grateful.

This video is a “remix” of To Whom It May Concern, featuring b-roll captured on the iPhone 15 and iPhone 15 Pro Max. I edited all the clips myself using In Shot. I hope you enjoy this reimagined piece, created with love and gratitude.

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What do you think—should I share more videos like this on Substack? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments! If this resonated with you, don’t forget to re-stack this post to help it reach more people who might need it.

Thank you for being here and supporting my journey—it truly means the world to me.

— xo, jo

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for you to let anyone in?

who hurt you so deeply

that everyone stays

at arm’s length?

why is your heart in a cage?

your lungs fill with air,

but are you truly alive?

when vulnerability knocks,

do you let it in,

or wait for it to stop visiting?

it feels like you built yourself a prison.

if only you opened your heart,

let the light touch it’s fragments—

you’d begin to heal

and know you’re meant

to be loved whole.

Behind the Poem:

This poem was inspired by recent interactions I’ve had with certain individuals who took my vulnerability for granted. It reminds me of the line from another poem titled “MY TOP 5” and the line goes:

Writing this piece felt like I was speaking to a particular audience of people that have never really allowed their hearts to be transformed by vulnerability, connection, and real love. Love can change you, if you invite it in.

Do you identify as someone whose guarded or have you allowed yourself to be vulnerable when relating with others? Let me know your thoughts in the comments below.

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with grief.

grief finds me

over and over.

this is a losing game, i fear—

how is he so good at this?

will i ever outsmart him?

maybe his finding me

is the nudge i need

to stop hiding—to sit down

like old friends do,

share a drink

and talk through the reasons

he’s part of my journey toward healing.

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Behind the Poem:

In my poem “HIDE & SEEK”, I personify grief as if he’s an old friend. I wanted to re-frame my mind around grief as it is a universal human experience. Being able “to sit down like old friends do” is a subtle, yet powerful way to look at grief.

Let me know in the comments, how do you see and/or experience grief?

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UNFOLD will be our shared space for poetry, creativity, and exploration. Here, you’ll find new poems, reflections on the creative writing process, and even some exclusive notebook pages for subscribers. My goal is for this newsletter to feel like a conversation between us, a place where you’re invited to experience poetry in a deeper, more personal way.

Thank you for being part of this journey. I can’t wait to grow together, to share more words, and to see how this space evolves with your presence and insights.

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With love and gratitude,
Jo