On page 12, at seventeen, I was not wild or volcanic. I was rigid and self-protective. My self-protectiveness took the form of exclusion; I ignored what I feared, which were most of my central feelings, and they were not present in my narrow, mannered, and static poems. These poems were also mystical and other-worldly, which entirely defined them. However, even worse was that by the time I began to analyze myself, I had stopped writing. Therefore, there was nothing to protect.
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