Sylvia Plath Fuller

A long time ago, when I was in my very late teens to mid-twenties, I thought I would be a writer. I wrote some pretty bad poetry; some really bad poetry. I’ve decided to share some of it with you.

I recently unearthed the notebook I’ve had since I graduated from boot camp. This notebook contains nearly everything I have ever written until we started having computers at home. Most of the pages are just stuck in the binding, and many of the pages don’t even belong to that particular notebook. I had always thought that, someday, I’d put them all together and publish them. That is, until I let a few years pass and went back to read them.

A friend of mine was telling me about this secret blog she started. The one, and only posting, ended up being a poem. She said it sort of morphed into one from a longer, angry rant. She went on to tell me how bad it was and that’s why no one will ever read it. I told her that I know all about bad poetry and told her that I’d share my bad poems with her if she’d share hers with me. I held up my end of the bargain but I’m still waiting for a link from her…

Anyway, I’ll be posting a few of these masterpieces for you to chuckle at every once in awhile. Enjoy.

Comment if you want. You know, no pressure.

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