This is all my cheezy teen angst poetry that wasn't about love.

In High School, that meant it's probably about depression or suicide or something fun like that. I've also included all my English assignment poetry and some early poetry I wrote before I was an angst-ridden teen :-)

Pre-Angst ~ Teen Angst ~ English Assignments ~ Lesbian/Coming Out ~ Misc. Poetry

Pre-Angst Poetry

Ah...such innocent, easy days...hehe.

Follow your dreams down the road
through a field, over a rainbow.
Follow your dreams wherever they go
and someday soon you'll catch them.

Things flowing in the dark depths of the mysterious ocean,
swimming about, knowing now the wiser,
until
SWISH
poor fish.

The poem that wasn't there,
wasn't there at all.
You may have thought it was,
but it wasn't.
The beautiful stanzas 'bout the rain
and the sky and the sea
and everything in between
had only been mirages
that dissapeared when reached for
and reappeared, only to be reached for again.
But I'll tell you a secret 'bout the poem that never was,
'twas the most beautiful poem I never read.

Gliding magestically through the quiescent azul sky
feathered limbs extend towards the unknown.
Through some synchronous inner force,
they form a graceful V
and silently slip into the serene everglades.
As manufactured quacks fill the air,
three ducks float past
while one solitary shot rings out
behind a vast clump of shoulder-high golden grass.
Abruptly, hundred of quacking feathered masses
occupy the heavens and soar off,
later to return to feed their hungry hatchlings,
for this is a mediocre day in the life of a duck.

Small bundles of silky fur
twitching wiskers, pointed ears
prrrs...prrs...
smoldering slowly
silent as a tiny mouse.
Mouse?
Mice!
Come out to play
Play, play while cats away.
Eyes open, slowly slowly.
Heads lift, spying mice. Legs in motion,
quiet gone. Cat's pounce, mice flee -
into holes they dissapear.
Prrrs.... prrrrs...
me they come to.
Dejavu?

POWETRY
Pow! Bang-bang!
Echoing through the night.
Uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh
assasinating the silence.
Earthquakes of color shatter the darkness
with greens, reds, blues and silvers,
brighter than the stars,
with the moon for an audience.
And on the 4th day of the 7th month,
the aliens on some distant star
get a show of brilliant fireworks.

Pitter-pat against the panes-
the soft, sweet smell of rain.
Tears from heaven,
tears from children waiting for to play.
Drip-drop
slowly stop.
Rising cries of joy.
Quickly pull on coat and hat,
"Don't forget the bat!"

Teen Angst Poetry

You've been warned...some depressing stuff follows.

In my dreams,
I have true friends.
We sing and we dance and
my life is complete.
I never cry out,all alone in the dark,
and my life is fulfilled.
I love and am loved.
I matter and my life is meaningful.
In my dreams.
In my dreams....

Here I stand in solitude,
with no one to guide me,
with on one to care.
Here I stand sobbing, bitter tears
streaming down my face
with no one to kiss them away.
Here I stand
with lonliness and resentment closing in.
No one, lonliness and resentment.
These are my new friends.
Say hello.

Oh my love,
as the clouds roll by,
I imagine how things would have been.
Your arm would be gently slipping around my shoulder,
carressing the bulkiness of my green sweater
the one you gave me.
Your lips would melt the stern appearance of my features.
Oh my love.
Now you caress the stars,
and kiss the moon.
Oh my love...
Oh my love....


The sun
beating down on my pale, befreckled face
feels good.
The wind
breezing through my red, curly-cue hair
feels good.
Your eyes
penitrating the quiet shy look of my eyes
feels good.
The love
pouring out of my love-starved heart
feels bad.
Painful.

As I stare out
of my second-story classroom window,
I see small people
scuttle about below.
Blue, yellow, red
cars putter by,
spewing out puffs of exhaust towards the heavens.
The elderly trees
waltz and fox trot
to the wind's favorite tune.
The saplings jitterbug.
A shrub and a fern act out a scene from
Romeo and Juliet
Where for art thou, Romeo?
As the world drones on in the distance.
Where for art thou, Romeo?

I have no friends,
my life has no love.
I'm floating in limbo
and I'm scared
because I may
fall onto the sharp,
jagged rocks below
with the placing
of one more stone on my back.
I'm floating in limbo,
just waiting to die.
Wanting to die.
Here comes the stone.
Goodbye.

STUDENTS FROM HELL
Students, students everywhere
listen close now, if you dare.
I have a horror tale to tell
it's rightly called Students From Hell.
I walked into class one day
(It's summer school, or so you might say)
Lincolnites and Muirites ambled around
It was obvious to see they were nowhere bound.
And they language they used, with their hair sprayed up high!
I glanced to the heavens and wanted to die.
I scrambled to the desk away over there
put my books on the ledge and sat in the chair.
The teacher began, and to my dismay
I realized that this was one of those days.
She knew not what book we should be working in
and whatever I said, I just couldn't win.
She spoke very poor english and just couldn't spell
but if I tried to correct her, kids took it not well.
You're a smak, you're a wierdo, we don't want you hear.
They tried everything to hurt me, but I shed not a tear.
I drew and I read and I wrote this here poem
but deep in my heart, I just wanted to go home.
Like a heavenly sign, ding-dong rang the bell
Eegods! One day less with these students from hell!

LONLINESS
It's hard to explain
the way I feel.
No one understands.
I have friends,
people I'm aquainted with.
But I have no
true-blue,
ready to do
anything for you friend
that I can share
a funny past with,
laughing over some stupid
memory we hold dear inside us.
No one I can talk to
about anything in my life
and they may not understand
or agree,
but they just listen, and
they don't judge.
No one to love me.
So my life is filled
with lonliness
of the worst kind.

The voice of death always delights me.
So sweet and considerate,
yet filled with a touch of mysteries
and dreams intertwined.
It calls to you-
beconing, urging, pleading.
You can hear the desperation in it's voice,
so I give in.
Delightful.

They are everywhere!
I look around
choking back the pain as the crowd of nobody pushes in on me.
I fling out my arms
and claw and dig at them,
but they just push closer
until they squeeze out the screams of terror from my ears
that are bursting from the mind-wrenching silence
that they all fling at me.
I hurl words back at them
as my tears burn question marks in my lips
but their noiseless fury
surrounds my few words and absorbs them.
I am nothingness next to their power,
and they laugh,
mocking me and my artillary of words.
Rather than listening to their silent insults,
and feeling their cold, nothing hands on my body,
I stop resisting
and I am crushed past myself on both ends.

GOODBYE CHILDHOOD
How could I have been so naieve?
Drugs, sex, wars,
were non-existant
in my oblivious world of
flowers and sunshine.
I had heard of cocaine,
but certainly never had
it almost take a friend's life.
Pregnancy?
that was for the teens in moves
from the wrong side of the tracks
(the sluts)
It never occurred to me that
the girl who dressed next to me in gym
might be going through it.
My sunshine is drowned out by
the pollution and toxic waste
floating about above
and my flowers could be
melted into a pile of
green and red pucky by
a nuclear bomb at any second.
Green and red pucky...
is that what the world is coming to?

 

English Assignments

Nuff said.

ON COMING IN LATE

When I was your age
(Don't roll your eyes at me!)
I read a book a day, not a page.
A wife was all I wanted to be.
I walked uphill to school in the snow,
I only had one dress.
I always went where my parents wanted to go
my room was never a mess.
I never asked a boy out
I did what my parent's asked.
I'd never pout!
and I'd never sass!
Get the picture?
Now go to your room!

As I walk home, I focus on my fears,
remembering the things that you would say.
I think of us, and sobbing bitter tears,
begin to walk back home this cold harsh day.
Then, I recall like a light from above
the way that your touch would make me feel numb.
Our love was so clear, as pure as a dove
but now, my love, to an end it has come.
Now that you have gone away, how will I live?
I have no one to love, nowhere to go.
I gave you all the love I had to give,
my heart is barren and painfully so.
If god understood this, your life he would save,
but now he has called you away to your grave.

I am obsessed with Oz paraphenalia
I desire to live in the Victorian era
I rejoice in the first word on a new piece of paper
Barefoot on the gym floor I love to waltz and caper
I believe in life on other planets
I know what a man deserves, he gets
In walls and on shelves I love crannies and nooks
I love never use, spiral bound notebooks
I sing along to my vacuum's song
I think people killing people is so very wrong
I can spend four hours in a stationery store
To me, Mozart is very far from being a bore
Open-mindedness, the way I dress
the coolest lady is Nessie, the monster loch ness
I wish to be a vampyre
with all my might, red hair I desire
A picture of an insect I just can't touch
I despize skeletons, graves and the such
I chew on my pinkies, I love the smell of rain
I really really want a crystal globe headed cane
It is eternally wrong to wear a coat of dead minks
I believe lower life forms and inanimate objects have feelings and think.

 

My greatest fear you ask me?
You really want to know?
Come her and sit beside my knee
Listen close, well here I go.
One day I will wake
my singing voice will be gone
Tuna casserole I'll make
Polyester I'll don.
A suzuki tipover I'll ride
McDonald's is my calling
In martinez I'll reside
Property values keep falling
Come out of hiding
don't be alarmed, dears.
These things won't come true,
they're only my fears!

 

Lesbian / Coming Out

Could it be that I had to wait
seventeen years, seven months,
three days and several hours to be born?
If so, what was I before my birth?
Would it seem possible that I am a dream?
If so, whose?
Maybe my whole fetal life was a dream
of some expectant mother
maybe a nightmare - who can judge?
Who can say I exist?
No one, that's who.
Maybe I am an inhabitant on a speck of porcelain
floating in a drop of water
in a real universe.
Who is my captor? Who is my jailor?
Why do they choose now to let me
spread my winds and fly?
Maybe that's it!
Maybe I'm a bug in a mental hospital called earth
and I have nightmares of being a woman.
Maybe I'm a praying mantis
and I want to eat the head off my parent-bug
to stop their terrible terrible badgering
and they put me away.
Maybe I don't exist.
Maybe I'm a storyboard for a new
prime time drama,
or maybe, worse yet,
maybe a cartoon.
Who can prove I exist?
Please, someone
anyone
prove it for me.
Please.
Maybe maybe maybe maybe
maybe maybe maybe
maybe maybe
maybe

 

I am finally free from structured society.
I was in a coma for over seventeen years
and now I have woken up to find a scary place to live in
but I can at least live as myself.
No more hiding, no more tears.
Well, no more hiding -
the tears are just a part of it all.
And I can't begin to thank the one who pulled the plug
and make me live on my own,
who made me think and realize that I can be happy
well, happier than before
learning who I am
and accepting it wholly,
without doubts or fears.
Well, without my old fears.
Now that I am born again
I have to learn to crawl and walk and talk
all before I can proceed
and yet,
I just want to run as fast and as far into it as I can.
I have wasted so much time denying life,
I want to embrace it now
and I want it to embrace me.
But I have to learn to walk first.
Left right
left right
left right
left

 

I am wearing boots that walk by themselves
and grey socks that want to be alone
and grey thermals that are decomposing one second at a time.
My black jeans shorts are rolled up once, twice, three times
and they zip and unzip to a different beat than the rest.
My green shirt is in a race with the thermals and it is losing.
The watch on my left wrist ticks and tocks, ticks and tocks,
telling me the secret of the phoenix
rising from the fire to be reborn anew.
A black chord dangles between my breasts -
it holds the key to my world of safety.
Once inside the keyhole that fits this key,
I am safe from pain, safe from hatred
free to love and live and learn.
But I sit here at this harsh, geometric box writing with the lines
instead of against them
because I can no longer find the keyhole.
Every day, I march on towards the future
and that keyhole is left behind
to be found by someone else who knows the secrets
to telling her boots "No!".
I was told how when I received the key
but I forgot when it came my turn to try.

 

When will I be free?
Tomorrownextweeknever
Free from the presence that confines me
to a supporting role in my own life.
If seventeen people feel like hundreds,
how will hundreds feel?
Will I ever find the one to make me whole?
When?
Tomorrownextweeknever?
Will I have to wait until college?
Probably,
or even more likely,
never.
What makes me think that I can be happy someday?
Why would I be special enough to catch someone's eye?
I might as well stay nearby,
and sleep until I die.
But when will that be?
Tomorrownextweeknever.

 

Misc. Poetry

CONTENTS OF A GENTLEWOMAN'S CLUTCH

A suggestion of a faintly apricot-colored lip
placed momentarily on an embroidered handkercheif.
A powder blue dance card filled with the name Toby Alexander Pettitt
with a maize tassle entertwined through the edge.
Face powder - pale velvet skin in a mirror encrusted compact.
A shimmering grey pouch containing several small coins of various amounts
and a silver skeleton key gaily marked with a blood-red tassle.
Scrutinize the polychromatic lining
(the still tone of the stirring silk resounds throughout the room)
and find three slightly bend hairpins
held together by a thread of crimson tresses.

 

Shadows
drift across a placid pond,
twisting into horrid monsters
and beautiful pictures.
Slowly,
a sweet-smelling breeze
comes up
and
blows ripples across
the water's surface,
distorting the images
into senseless blobs
of darkness.
somewhere,
a light comes on
and amidst all the
confusion,
there glows a water-nymphs face
startled into being
by the sudden lights' intrusion
into her play
- For Davyboy, who thought the thought.

THE WAFTER - for Terry Minton
She dwells on the edge of her circle of friends,
listening to conversations of unknown significance,
absorbing the intense cameraderie all around her.
And then
when suspicion is lowermost,
the phantasm passes from view
without a small flutter from the corner of a paper
or the creak of a chair
or the muffled whoosh-bang of the door.
No one notices her sudden vanishing until....
the wafter lurks behind locked doors
and innocently knocks.

 

A single glowing calla lily
grows in the alley near my house.
On my way home, I see it
everyday, it seems less and less important,
until it doesn't even register in my mind that it is there.
Then,
one day,
it is gone -
it's beauty no longer at my fingertips
(where did it go?)
(Why did it go?)
I never knew I could miss something so badly
when it was never mine to begin with.

Three
flit by in the summer breeze,
tickling the trees
under their branches.
Their high squeakish laughter
fans out and dissapears
amongst the
birds' twittering talk.
The crack of a twig
hushes them instantly, and
they fleetly flee to
the top of the brush
and continue their play -
apprehensively at first,
lest an enemy should
suddenly appear amidst them.
Yet, the strangers
go along their way and,
relieved,
the fairies begin to
frolic between
the trees' roots
in their enchanted forest.

PLANE RIDE

Blackest night
navy blue blue grey powdery pale baby
daybreak.
The reality of it's magic renders me speechless.
The smooth transition of color to color
to color makes my head reel with it's endless possibilities.
Shades I never knew
shades without names, existing only here, only now
for me.
The exhiliration is magnified in this reality
where the beauty of the moment can indeed exist
without green flying saucers and red flowers,
things that made the word quilt funny
and my birkenstocks important
and the beach neverending in our minds.
There are no stoplights to take my mind away from it all,
with their maddening march into the vanishing point.
There is no room later, where we will lay
huddled together under an old sleeping bag,
afraid to sleep, yet unable to do the other thing
we don't do too well anyway.
Before, we huddled beneath it's greatness
and shivered in fear and cold.
Now, the cold earth lies below me, icy in it's sensuality
beginning to stir towards a new day.

DAY II

Tears randomly squeeze out of my eyes
and splatter onto my blotchy cheeks
and my head begins to disco at my temples.
My neck muscles play a tug-of-war and my lungs
spaztically
in-n-out in-n-out
NONONONONONONONONONONONONONON
Hallway payphones are no such place
for acts of those tell-tale emotions.
(Those tell-tale pronouns are a root)
Thunder and lightening bolts chase inside my eyeballs
as the storm continues.
Cats and dogs are for dorms, not halls.
Memories hopscotch all over the place
and I try to erase the chalk, but it's painted on.
I miss
Oh, how I miss.