When I was in high school, around the age of 17 I remember reading about Petrarch and how he wrote 366 poems to a woman he obsessed over. Being young and ambitious and suffering from the understandable defect of enjoying writing poetry, I thought doing something like this would be awesome. I thought that I would pour out my heart in plentitudes of poetry to my one true love. Unfortunately, I wasn't really in love with one woman, but with many woman, and in fact I wasn't really in love with them, more just physically attracted to these many women. In some cases, my attraction rose to the level of a earnest crush, but I was still inexperienced in love. Thus, I ended up writing several (about 20) mediocre poems for various (about 15) women that struck my fancy, mostly classmates who very attractive and well out of my league. Now, going back to read such early attempts at poetry is rather painful, not just because they're bad, but because they're patent evidence of what a bad writer I once was. I've entirely kept this vast collection and terribly written youthful poetry to myself and it remains at the top of my list of things to destroy before I die, lest someone see them.