My Teenage Angst

Teenage angst. We all had it in some form or another.
When I was a teenager, I was a poet. My angst is documented.
My teenage poems are sometimes silly and self-indulgent, others simply cry out for someone to understand. Looking back at the life within these poems, I am at times heartbroken, and at times nostalgic. I both laugh and cry inside for my teenage self. Mostly I am grateful to be able to look back.
I will periodically add more as I come across them.
All of these were written when I was 15-16 years young...


Reside

set me free from this vicious chain
for I am being cut at the heart with a knife much too sharp
I can't do much
except sit and exist
expecting the worst
hoping the best
keep me locked inside your exclusive door
think about it first
and then look in my eyes


Zombie Walking

You are only sputtering and choking to me.
You are listlessly begging me with your pitiful eyes.
You are only dragging your tail and watching everyone pass by.
You look like a human skeleton I keep thinking.
Over and over and over in my mind.
I wanted to warn you.
Would you have heard?


Dominate

Refrain from chasing the glory out of my hands.
I never did that to you.
You know what you are doing when you do it.
As long as I can remember
You only liked me when I was under your feet.
I will enjoy the look upon your conquering face if
WHEN
I rise above you and smile.
A genuine, kind smile.
Like an angel.


Step

an immobile chip
on the shoulder
of you
you
my replacement subsitute
you
my grateful feelings
you
my only hope in this field
I spit on this possibility
and embrace it
in the same turn
you
who confuses my emotions
and swims in my heart
you
who cares so much
not to care
who cares so much
not to care
who you hurt
its me
its you who is here with me


Fresh

I am crawling into the sunshine
Slowly at first.
Today
Is a new day.
Tomorrow
Another.
My today has come
Beckoning for tomorrow.
People sigh and wave to me.
I wave with joy in return.
For my today has come
With a smile on his face.


Mother

Mother I don't know you.
I do know of you.
I sense a little anger.
Anger in the pit of me.
I sense a little nothing.
Mother I can call you mother.
I can call you mom.
But you won't call me.
I don't call you by your name.
You have no right to call me by mine.
Don't call me.
You don't.
I can't miss.
I can only wonder.
I can't despair.
I can only shrug.
As if nothing.
As if you call.
You just don't.


Long For

I sing a rich and pleasant tune to you
In my deep emerald fields I dance gaily
I sway freely
I play my tune and you stand there
Just stand there
Just smiling
My mind is filled with nothing
The good kind of nothing
The kind you long for
I am happy
The good kind of happy
The kind you long for



A Man I Know

Multiple personalities
An image of vomit comes to my mind
Then one of forgiveness
I am concerned for you Michael
For what I am doing to you
And your gray head
And your heart
Your bloodshot eyes expose pain
I cry for that
And I cry for you
To have you hug me and not cry inside
Do not blame yourself
Ok, Michael?
It is all part of the image in my mind
One of a girl
A girl who feels everything
This girl who is golden
And burns so many
Don't cry for me Michael
I know you get angry
Just don't give up
On me




All of these poems are about being grounded (which I was A LOT in my teenage years):

*
So ragged and emotional
Surrounded and encumpussed
By the everlasting fear and sorrow
Of solitude
The room is fierce hard stone
And nothing could be harder
But eternity shall be spent
You made your hell

*
I have spent endless hours in this rectangular box
only emerging for instants at a time.
I have speculated and pondered.
I have spilled my heart on the floor
and scrambled down on my hands and knees
to pick it up.
I have killed time with fury.

*
Into me, the bitter gaul of my nothing penetrates over my carcass.
I am not dead.
Yet.
I feel the sweet conquering death coming to me.
Beckoning with silver bony fingers curled at the end with a claw.
I stay and remain.
Trapped.
No.
That's an understatement.
Locked.
Imprisoned.
Pinned. Barricaded.
I am barricaded into this world which I truly despise with all the body I have.
I feel my soul curdling in the scorching heat of my life.
All I yearn to do is run to the waters edge and see my reflection composed of gold.
I would like to smile without a fog of hatred and despair clouding my eyes.
I need to live and I shall.
If I get to the water's edge.