14 May 2014

Since I'm late for #transformationtuesday...

Lately, I've been lacking inspiration. I've just been so worn out between school and extra-curriculars (and I got into a car crash about a month ago and I've been dealing with the aftermath of that....) that I've just been too tired to write... It's been hard posting twice a week.

A lot of the poems I've already posted come from the files I already have on hand, and though there are nearly 100 of them, I only feel comfortable posting a few. As I go through and try to choose which poem to post, I find that most of the ones I have on hand are a) incomplete, or b) from several years ago.

Which brings me to this post. Reading these old poems makes me wince; I've been tempted, on a number of occasions, to erase them and pretend they never existed. But I don't. I save them so that I can see the way my writing has evolved. I'm not a ground-breaking, philosophy-spouting scholar; I've always written as a form of self-soothing. But I do find it interesting to see how I've grown as a writer.

For example, this


was written when I was about 14. Looking at it today, at age 18, I want to bury myself in sand and revoke any association with it.

Whereas I wrote this



the summer between my junior and senior years of high school at age 17. Actually, they're written about the same person.

I go over what I've written about the boy I'm currently in love with, and I can't even begin to speculate what my files will have on him in 3 months, let alone 3 years. It's kind of cool to realize how gradually and yet how incredibly experiences modify writing style.

Has anyone else noticed a similar phenomenon?



No comments:

Post a Comment