Cringing at Our Past Art

But why?

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I self-published 90-some poems in 2015 that I wrote about my ex who cheated on me, and the breakup that completely destroyed my world. Something told me to look back at this (it was the Chani App, ok?). Apparently for us Cancer Risings something creative we did in 2015 would be resurfacing. The advice was to consider getting back to this creative medium. I obviously listened. Last Saturday, I updated the bio on the back cover, not the actual content, but this would mean having to look at said actual content.

cover of Leftovers by Stela Starchild, my second self-published book

It’s hard to look back at things we’ve created. It can feel painful, cringey, and a multitude of other emotions. Why is it so cringe though? Why are we so afraid of our past selves?

The poems I wrote in 2015 are potentially cringey, and I was tits-deep in, what some will refer to as, “Instagram poetry.” The style is short, simple (in form and language), and thought of as “not real poetry” by poetry gatekeepers.

What is “real” poetry, though? What is “real” art?

I started writing poetry when I was seven. It was my first writing style that I played with and I loved. I would write poems about any and everything, and I particularly liked writing haikus.

the first poem I wrote, a haiku, age 7

In my senior year of high school, I did an independent study where I wrote and published a chapbook of poems titled, Wrap Me in the Blue. The cover photo is of Danish woman my late uncle dated. At the time, I loved this photograph. I liked the look of her. I made stories about what she was thinking. The poems I wrote for this chapbook were mostly about my teenage angst, medical trauma, and unrequited love.

my first chapbook of poetry, Wrap Me in the Blue, 2004

I looked back at my book from 2015. It’s called, “Leftovers,” and is about “…the stuff that comes out when a relationship ends; when a death happens; when you become yourself fully. These poems are my leftovers—strength and vulnerability I never knew I had.” I read the poems and I cringed, yes, but I also appreciated some of the lines I had written. For example, “Tell me the truth and that organ you call a heart might finally become one.” Or this one, “I’m still collecting the butterflies you chased from my belly.” It’s not amazing; it won’t win any awards, but it’s mine. It represents where I was, and who I was at an integral time.

“Haircut” from my book Leftovers

Why do we feel so embarrassed about things we once loved or ways of being that we once were? Probably because people can be harsh, and we have a tendency to be our own harshest critics.

The first tattoo I got is three letters in all-caps on my left upper back. It says, “LHW.” It means “Lachrista Has Wings.” At 18, I was a huge Fiona Apple fan (still am), and I read that she had a tattoo that said, “FHW.” About a decade ago, I thought about getting this small, inconsequential tattoo of mine covered up. I felt embarrassed by it. I felt silly for having it. Now, I’m so glad I left it alone. Like my poems from 2015, this tattoo represents a moment in time; it represents a moment of who I was and a part of who I still am.

I’m now planning a new book of poetry, but will still be selling my old one, too. For a second I thought maybe I would completely erase Leftovers from the internet. But then I decided that I wanted those poems out there; I want people to buy it if they want to. I want them to reach whomever might need them.

Art is subjective after all, and one person’s cringe is another person’s glory.

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🫀 Mood Board for the Week

1. Maybe I shouldn’t call this a “mood board” anymore, but I hope y’all know what I mean by that—the collective mood, which is not great.

2. Alcohol-induced deaths in WI tripled from 1999 to 2020, and is 25% higher than the nation.

3. I love

   Marlee Grace
   and their newsletter is a balm for the soul

4. Another balm for the soul is

   Creative Fuel with Anna Brones

5. I’m excited for

   Sam Slupski
   ‘s book! I will be pre-ordering when I get paid!

6. I just bought one of these keychains to put on my bag so people know my condition (please don’t call 911 on someone who faints, by the way. Only call if they stop breathing or hurt themselves!)

7. To me, a mask symbolizes intelligence and empathy. It symbolizes caution and safety. Air purifiers symbolize connection and solidarity. When I see them, I see someone who has my back. -

   OK Doomer

8. This is a gorgeous essay for people with POTS and any Dysautonomia (did you know vasovagal syncope—now also called Neurocardiogenic Syncope (NCS), which I’ve had since I was a child—is now considered a type of Dysautonomia!

9. The Real Meaning of Gatekeeping: “It’s always been about the most powerful — it’s who has power and what they do with it that has changed.” - Ann Friedman

10. Dreaming of living in a world where disabled people don’t have to ask ableds (or anyone) for accommodations