This is from one of my favorite internet comics, Sinfest. I cannot count the number of times that I have looked at the things I wrote at some point in the past and shuddered in horror. HORROR, I tell you. It's completely impossible to be objective about one's own poetry. Instead, we rip it up, tear it down, and generally want to hide it from the world.
Why did I publish a book of it then, you ask. Well. That's a damn fine question. I honestly just wanted to have a pretty looking, nice, clean hardback to give to my mom. Really. That's how I ended up publishing Pieces of the Soul. Kind of silly, hm?
I mean, there's one or two that, in retrospect, I'm kind of proud of and I can feel okay about it. But that's pretty much it.
How many of you can look at your work objectively? And how on earth do you do it?
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