I am a poet. At the moment, my poetry is dormant, but I have made a decision to wake it up. Look for it here.
I wrote pretty good poetry as an elementary-schooler, pretty typical (read: angsty and obscure) poetry as a middle-schooler, and pretty decent (if somewhat controversial) poetry as a high-school student. My eleventh grade teacher was a wonderful mentor, and I was published multiple times in the school literary magazine, Pen and Ink -- admittedly I was literary editor my senior year, so there was some serious nepotism going on there. I spent a summer learning about the ins and outs of life as a poet at the Pennsylvania Governor's School for the Arts, and I wrote prodigiously in my journals and read constantly.
To start off, here's the last poem I remember writing:
February 14, 2002
At the journey's threshold
we join our hands,
filled with wondrous juxtaposition
of Mickey Mouse and amazing grace,
bathwater and the kitten,
skin meeting skin and your voice
announcing the thrill of now
how we have grown to belong
together, not in tandem
as in the starting years,
but synchronous, symbiotic -- newly
alive! In rising up again.