I just came across some poetry I wrote when I was 15 or so. Its so strange to look back on something from that time period. It's like hearing from a different person. I didn't start keeping a consistent journal till I was 17 or a blog till 18. My memories of that part of my life often get consumed with school and FBLA and other involvements. I don't have a record of my musings. Heck, at that point in my life, I still thought I wanted to be a lawyer. I had such different ideas of who I was. Six years from now I'll probably look back with some incredulity too, but I have a better record now of how I got from point A to point B. I don't really have that for high school. Other than my speeches, I haven't looked at those assignments in years. Its so strange. 


All that to say, I did come across one poem with some merit... here is just one stanza of my affected poetical voice, but I still kind of like it:

Did David ever wonder while emerging from rock and stone,Or van Gogh’s little star ever wait on canvas alone?Is it minutely possible that brilliant Mona Lisa ever wanted to frown,Or did one of Monet’s Water Lilies ever wish to drown?Has there ever been a time that, purpose not clearly shone,Caused a single piece of art to cast its spirit down?