I have been going through some of my old poems lately, and it hasn’t been the best experience, emotionally speaking.
I’ve been writing poems actively since the age of 15, so going through these documents is much like stepping into a time machine. I remember vividly everything I felt while writing each one, and most of the time, they reminded me of things I’ve done with my life that… should have been done differently.
I royally screwed up my first marriage. After we split up, I wrote a series of poems that aren’t suitable for public consumption, either due to its content or just the hateful, incomprehensible babbling I seem to do.