I was just looking through some of my old stuff. Stuff that I remembered in shadows and impressionist visions. No concrete memories of what significance any of it really had. One poem in particular I remember submitting in my creative writing class for a poetry assignment. I got an A on the poem, and seeing the title saved on my computer, I opened it expecting to be surprised at how good of a writer I was before college ruined my writing. It was absolutely awful. It was the sappiest, most drawn out poem that reached for intimate detail and overshot by about a country. Shit. The poem was so bad, I imagined what I would do if a friend of mine ever gave it to me and asked me what I thought about it. I couldn't do it. There is not one redeemable line in the poem. And it isn't me being overly critical because it's my work, it is really as awful as all that. Good God, it frightened me. One or two years from now, I could look back on this and think the same. Gulp.