1. Five-Teenaged

Friday, August 24, 2007
At the age of fifteen, I couldn't write, well, at least not WELL. Sure, I could THINK of lots to write about, but did it MEAN anything? No. No it did not. I was in no fit state to write. In one year, from the day before I turned fifteen until the day after age sixteen, I had three-and-a-half boyfriends and was either blissfully infatuated or bitterly heartbroken. Every piece of writing that I created that year was either about the "love" that I believed that I had, or the pain that I thought I felt. While I felt that my heart, or what was left of it was in pieces, I wrote mediocre pieces of poetry and short stories, both about love, failure and eventually death. I likened myself to a teenaged Bright Eyes, or a female Kurt Cobain. Recently, I re-read my poetry from that "era" and I can't believe how whiny they are. Most of them are ridiculously horrid and yet, at that time, I was proud to call them my own. Now, I may still love the same songs, and wear the same clothers, I know that my writings, as well as all the writing skills I had have improved, if not completely changed.