I just got done reading an anthology of poems that I wrote for a project my junior year of high school. The question is – should one feel embarrassed or humbled if poetry he wrote when he was fifteen really wasn’t that good? 

Here is the poem (I have edited the spelling mistake) from that project I feel most comfortable sharing here: 

Our Last Chance 

Hunting, Searching for the last duck.
Spot one, a dot, on the horizon
Coming straight in
Its mind set for food
Stand up aim and pull
All noise goes to your ear, Crack
The duck hesitates and starts again
Its heart skipping a beat.


You are correct if you guess that I wasn’t a very good hunter.