I’ve been hearing a lot of poets shame their old work.
I understand the dilemma. You mature to a point where certain stories and ideas no longer represent you.
So, how do you reconcile yourself with old poetry? …You don’t.
-*- But you should guard your words. -*-
Guard them now, as you did then.
…My past produced something powerful. Me, now.
…It protected something precious. Me, now.
…It harvested something honest. Me, then. Me… now.
…And it celebrated the mind of someone special. Me.
Regret occurs only in those moments where you know you’ve lacked integrity. When you realize that you’ve failed to speak earnestly. Where you existed separate from your words.
Oh, how freeing it is to live to have no regrets.
…Yet, I’ve heard a lot of poets shame their old work…
How could you grow so wise and journey so far only to pick yourself apart? The same you existed in your naïveté and in your pain.
And if you forsake yourself now, you’ll do it again.