Rites of passage

An assignment for my poetry workshop this week is that each student bring in her worst poem ever. This is a difficult assignment for me since most of my poems are just awful, especially the four full-of-angst journals I've kept from those trying (but oh-so-fun!) undergrad years. I'm still not sure which poem I'm going to take to class tomorrow night--most of my older ones are a bit too personal and much too surly to share in decent company. I might go with something safe. Or I might say what the hell and take the ones with these stunning lines:

"Give me a fucking reason to love myself/ Because I can't if you don't" (2.08.06)
or

"I like boys and shoes/ though I've yet to find/ my perfect match in either" (2.10.06) '06 was a trying time in the love department, as you can see.
or

"I feel like an amalgamation/ of decisions others have made/ I'm no longer an autonomous self/ but a construct of contrived identities" (4.11.06) Can you tell I wrote this the semester I took intro to literary theory?
or

"I am a thinker and a writer/ A lover and a fighter" (6.26.07) For about a week after we discussed them in the NWPCA summer institute, I couldn't stop writing "I am from" poems.

Oh dear. How I have grown, both in my writing and in my emotional maturity. I think.

Got any awesomely bad lines to share?