In college and the few years following I wrote poetry. Lots of poetry. I proclaimed that it was dead, while still scribbling away in my dimly lit room, drinking whiskey or tea and smoking cigarettes. Everything was huge. Every experience terribly meaningful. I fed off of romantic notions about love lost, finding oneself, and the like.
Recently I was reading through some of my old poems and found a few that I remember being marginally proud of. (And, as we all know, one should always think of her own work as rubbish, so marginally proud is saying a lot.) And even now, I think, yes, these were obviously written by a college student just trying to figure things out, but still, I like them.
Click through if you want some insight into my twenty year old mind…
I may or may not have just sang/rapped dc Talk’s Luv is a Verb to my roommate. Because I might still remember all of the lyrics, even though I haven’t listened to that album in years and years.
Okay, that definitely just happened. So what? Don’t be so judgey. ‘Luv’ is a verb.
And that’s some d(ecent) c(hristian) Talk for you.