Why I Released “Another Cinderella."
Some songs are carefully scheduled months in advance.
Others arrive because someone quietly asks for them.
“Another Cinderella” wasn’t originally part of my release plan.
It lived in my notebooks for years — one of many poems written long before I ever started turning them into songs. I never considered it among my strongest pieces, and for a long time I was content to let it remain a private work.
But sometimes a piece of writing doesn’t belong only to the person who wrote it.
Someone who mattered to me carried this poem quietly for nearly eight years. Not publicly. Not performatively. Just privately drawing strength from it in ways I never fully saw. When she finally asked if I would consider releasing it as a song, it changed how I looked at the piece. It was no longer just something I had written once upon a time — it had become something that had lived alongside someone else ’s life.
That realization made the decision simple.
The process of turning decades-old poems into music has been a strange experience. Some of the pieces I’ve released were written during very different chapters of my life. Hearing them sung back to me for the first time has felt like opening sealed letters from earlier versions of myself. Some still resonate exactly as they were. Others reveal meanings I didn’t fully understand when I wrote them.
“Another Cinderella” falls somewhere in between.
It’s a song about perception — about the distance between the stories we tell ourselves and the realities we eventually confront. It isn’t cynical, but it isn’t naïve either. Like most of my work, it lives in that uneasy space between hope and recognition.
Releasing it now feels less like unveiling something new and more like allowing something old to finally take its place in the open air.
I’ve been releasing songs steadily for the past several months, drawing from a catalog of poems written over decades. Each one feels like placing a small marker in the world — a way of saying, “This existed. This mattered. It was lived.”
Some songs connect quickly. Others take time.
Some may only ever matter to a handful of people.
But when a piece of writing has already meant something real to even one person, that’s reason enough to let it live outside the notebook.
“Another Cinderella” releases tomorrow.
Turning poetry into music has been a meaningful journey for me, one filled with moments of reflection and rediscovery. I remember the process of revisiting old notebooks, sometimes feeling like I was reconnecting with past versions of myself. Each poem held memories and emotions I hadn’t fully grasped at the time of writing. "Another Cinderella" was special because it wasn’t just a personal piece—it quietly supported someone I care about for many years. The idea that a private poem could be a source of strength for another person changed how I viewed its purpose. It made me realize artwork can have a life beyond its original creator—it grows and adapts as it intertwines with others’ experiences. This song taps into the complexity of perception, an often delicate balance between the stories we tell ourselves and the truths we eventually face. It neither paints a purely optimistic picture nor sinks into cynicism; instead, it lives in a nuanced space between hope and reality. In my own life, I’ve found that acknowledging these mixed feelings allows for deeper understanding and compassion. Releasing songs like “Another Cinderella” feels like opening a window into moments that mattered, placing markers that say, “This existed. This mattered.” Not every song will resonate with a large audience, but even touching one life justifies bringing these works into the light. For creators considering whether to share private work, I’d say: sometimes what feels incomplete or modest to you may be exactly what someone else needs. Art can be a silent companion, lending support long before it reaches a wider audience. Embrace the unexpected requests and invitations to share; they might reveal new meaning and connection. The process has taught me patience, too. Some songs connect immediately; others unfold their impact over time. And as I continue this journey, I’m reminded that the relationship between art and listener is deeply personal, shaped by time, life experiences, and emotional openness.
