a heads-up

I'm digging out journals from four years ago, and I will be cringing as I (mostly) faithfully copy them out. I really did compare my soul to a teabag. I was in some distress at the time. Share with me the humor of some of my early works when viewed in hindsight, and critics, please realize that the writer was an extremely shy sixteen- or seventeen-year-old with a great deal more books than experience, who would probably take comments very personally, and internalizing them, would write more bad poetry on her yearning for a turtle's shell! Thankfully I am a bit more sturdy now.