You’re not wrong. I see your point, 100%.

However, this is exactly what the beginning of my poetry journey looked like. Writing absolute crap based on all of the bad things in my life. All of the terrible crushes, psychic wounds, and all the et ceteras.

It was poetry. It was bad poetry. And having people in my life, in both cyberspace and meat space, that celebrated it and let me call it poetry, kept me writing. It kept me improving.

I was 12–13ish when I found poetry. My parents weren’t (aren’t, I should say) the kind of people who believe in therapy. I didn’t get any until well into adulthood. But I had poetry. I guess people are more indulgent of crappy art from kids than they are from adults. My middle school mentor hosted a book signing during my freshman year. I remember the superintendent buying two copies.

Now I look back at those poems, and I’m embarrassed as hell. I think that’s part of the process. The fervor that comes with the first delight of writing, then the learning and the growth, the daily practice, and then the refining. If people are encouraged to stick with it long enough, their poetry can grow into something special.

But we all have to start somewhere. And, for me, that was bad emo poetry :) ❤