Drinking Perfection - Throwback Thursday #tbt #halloween

I was.... 16 when I wrote this one.  Figured it was appropriate for Halloween!

Drinking Perfection

Footfall could be heard on the cobblestone path
The reflection of the creator could be seen by the birdbath
Swirling lights from the lighthouse nearby
The color iris staining her eye

A wisp of his presence came out of the air
All of a sudden he appeared from nowhere

Satin cloth brushed by her side
Tendrils of hair caressed her forehead
A loving kiss was plated on her cheek
A hint of wine could be sensed on his breath

The wounds from his fatal kiss were far gone
Now the creator stared at his job well done
The beauty of the creature was hard to miss

Skin the feel of steel
Lipstick as that of an evergreen garden
Eyes that absorbed all of the spectrum
Strength that outnumbered the largest of men
Fangs to match the shining white teeth
Yes, she was perfect indeed.

A shiver ran through her body
The metamorphosis claimed her mind
The time had come for the affect to take hold
 Her first victim was only seventeen years old

Ahhh!  I cringe!  Like I said in a previous post, keeping my writing helps me see how much I've grown.... and I've grown a whole lot since this! Do you have old writing you aren't proud of?

A Walk to Remember for #ThrowbackThursday

A Walk to Remember (11/1/2003)

Beautiful cloudless sky
Endless mass of stars above
Two forms walked forward
Walked only looking ahead

He held her hand in his
She rested her head on his arm
Silently they walked in sync along the path
Only one set of footsteps could be heart
Just one powerful heartbeat could be sensed
The pair was one.

Every night the pair walked
Hand in hand for hours on end
Every night they never spoke
Just cherished the moments together

This evening would be the final night 
Until a year passed
For he was leaving
And she would be left behind

This night their pattern was dismissed
For he broke the silence
And she broke the touch between them

"I love you," he whispered silently
She looked up at him teary-eyed
"I love you, too," she answered 
With a hint of sadness in her voice

He grabbed her hand
She placed her head on his shoulder
They walked on again until the night was over

Until the miles no longer stood between he and she
A walk to remember this would be.

A poem I wrote when I was 16, presented for Throwback Thursday. Barf! It reads like more like a short story than a poem... a bad, broken, improperly formatted story... and apparently I didn't realize you don't have to capitalize every line... and that poems should flow instead of read awkwardly... and that it is just completely horrible.

Do you have old work that makes you cringe?

Growing as a Writer

I have a binder full of poetry and short stories that I wrote from about age 12 to 18 stashed away for safekeeping. While there isn't anything in it I'd dare be proud of today, each is evidence of my growth as a writer.  For instance:

Why Me? 1999 (I was around 12)
As I look into the cup
the cup in front of me
I see my life
dark and unfree
it hurts to cry
through the tears I can barely see
all I think about,
why me?

I believe it's the first poem I ever wrote and even though I can recite every word...ugh, I cringe! Luckily, I had a habit as a teenager to date my work with at least the year, so the dates give me a timeline of my writing.  I can see change in my ability from the first poems I ever wrote to the last entry when I was 18.

Depression Reigns (2005)
Pain took advantage of the circumstances
Sorrow is once again my home
If only I had the courage to bleed again
I might feel better with depression on the throne.

To each good thought
he screams off with their head
To each wonderful memory
the dungeon is where they make their bed

He severed the lines that allow me to smile
the laugh I once had has been captured for a while
He drains my energy
But retains my tears for their daily trip down

Some may call him a tyrant
Some may find him vile
I call him my grand king
After all, I cannot escape him
So I gave him the crown.

Whoa at the teenage angst! Without a doubt I know that I could take any one piece from my binder and create a totally different, vastly improved version of my old ideas... but I won't.  I really do want those poems and short stories to stand in time.  They may not make me proud of my writing ability back then, but they serve as static reminders of my love of creativity and the written word.  More importantly, they are evidence of my growth as a writer.

Part of the importance of a writer's journal is that it keeps record of your ideas and work.  Not only can you revisit ideas once discarded, you can see how you grow as you become a more involved and talented writer.  Often times I laugh at the silly or typical words and images I used in past writing, but I can also see how I used figurative language and other literary devices without even being aware of their purpose.

The whole point of this post is to urge you to keep everything you write, especially that which doesn't make you the proudest.  There may come a day when you can revisit that piece and turn it into the masterpiece you envisioned when you first put it to paper.  You need to see evidence of your growth.  It will be a great tool those days (or weeks or months) that you need a confidence boost.