Have you even written anything years ago, thinking that it was a masterpiece, and then re-read it years later, only to find that it’s POS. This happens to me more times than not, especially as I read things that I wrote in high school. I had a bad habit of thinking that my writing was avant-garde, on the cutting edge of what was deemed fresh and literary and ground-breaking. Well, I drummed up an old poem I wrote in 1991. Avant-garde is the last word I would use to describe it.

By Varian C. Johnson

Way back when I was a little kid,
My Mom’s friend came over to visit.
My Mom’s friend smoked,
So I told her that she could get lung cancer,
Or emphysema,
Or bronchitis
(Though I pronounced it “brontosaurus”).
I also said that she had yellow teeth,
And stinky breath,
And that her clothes smelled like my old Uncle Leroy
(He smoked too, by the way).
Mom whipped me good
For what I said,
But I was only telling the truth.
So whatever you do
And whatever you say,
Be sure to remember:
The truth hurts at times.

The world became a much safer place on the day I decided to stop writing poetry.