Last night I came across an old journal and some old poetry I had written back in the early 90's. Yeah, POETRY. It was like reading things written by a total stranger.
I remember having this poetry book that was SUPER old...like from the 1800's old that I had found in this old historical house owned by my best friend's family.
None of the shit in the book made a lick of sense to me, but I can remember sittin' on my bed writing and a particular line from a certain poem would come to mind so I would add it to what I was writing. So even though a line or two was sometimes from someone else's fucked up mind, it's as though everything I had written came from the brain of someone entirely different.
I was crazy volatile.....an angsty teenager that was very angry one minute and then all glitter, unicorns and rainbows the next. I used words that I don't even know the freakin' meaning of now. I had a passion that's unrecognizable. It's like the person who wrote that was destined for a very different life. By no means am I talking about a better life, just a completely different one.
I tore up several pages and threw them out.......lots and lots of Itty bitty shreds. I had written things that were shocking to me. Good god the things I thought....I was one pissed off, jacked up, whore minded teenager and don't want my kids to read that shit when I die.....so I destroyed the evidence.
As jacked up as some of it was, I must say I was pretty talented. Angry, horny and talented.
Maybe I'll share one day.