From age 12 to 17, I was a super prolific "poet." I had four binders full of looseleaf pages of all kinds of writing. I had also kept every note that my girlfri

From age 12 to 17, I was a super prolific "poet." I had four binders full of looseleaf pages of all kinds of writing. I had also kept every note that my girlfriends had given to me during that time. Around age 22, I found them in my closet, and I was overcome with shame and embarrassment. I immediately burned them all. More than a decade after burning them, there's a little bit of me that wishes I hadn't, but the feeling of embarrassment is so strong, I'm cringing thinking about some lines now. I would never want to show them to anyone. I clearly remember writing some of it, the environment where I wrote it, the events that inspired the writing, the path my brain took (and how that path was determined) for the lines I wrote, the pain in my hand from gripping the pen too tight for too long. I remember exactly how I felt then. But I am not that person. I don't like who that person was. I envy anyone who isn't ashamed of their previous writing.