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I think as writers we find ourselves more in tune with our emotions, desires, and needs when that certain age of maturity, grace, and confidence is found. I’m of course referring to the superb age of thirteen. Not only did I understand how my emotions played and interacted with one another at this point in my life, but I could express myself with beauty and elegance through awful scribbled poetry. Back when passion in poetry meant something about hearts and love; where every line rhymed with next. When most poems were handwritten and doodled upon with swirls and smiley faces. The phase of gushy and just plain terrible poetry dragged on for two years until my lovely brother said, and I quote, “This sucks”. However terrible my rhythm and rhyme was, I did learn a few things about writing during this time. First, proofread, proofread, and just in case you forget, proofread your work. There is nothing funnier to a critic than spelling “time” without the “e” or thinking that there are at least twenty syllables in a haiku. Also, when ever inspiration is needed, look to the Greats. Even though my poetry was dreadful, reading authors like Robert Frost, Emily Dickenson, Ezra Pound, and (but of course) Shakespeare helped my knowledge of writers and their formatted styles grow.