Teenage Angst Poetry

I'm so buying this book.

I’ve decided to bring a little culture to my blog. On this Friday, I would like to share a poem with you. The idea came to be when I was sorting through my piano music and I stumbled upon my weathered notebook of teenage angst poetry, a compilation of brilliant verses composed by yours truly in the early nineties.

I was a hard-core romantic who had crushes on only a handful of mostly jerk teenage boys. Incredibly shy, I had one very well thought-out method of attracting their attention: I ignored them completely, looked the other way when they came into a room, and did my best never to talk to them. You will be surprised to hear that this strategy almost NEVER had the desired effect.

So, my lonely heart wrote poetry. Mostly love poetry. Which now makes me want to barf a little bit in my mouth. The rest of it is just plain angst-ridden, because, let’s face it, being a self-absorbed teenage girl with frizzy hair and no sense of style is tough.

The poetry is everything you’d ever want from a lovesick, tormented teenage girl: melodramatic, packed with in-your-face symbolism, and it rhymes.

I was an exceedingly talented rhymer. I’m not even going to be humble about that.

So here is a short example of one of my earlier pieces, entitled “His Eyes.”

Ahem.

His Eyes

Liquid eyes I would float in forever,
Eyes that drown my soul instead.
I get lost in those deep liquid eyes,
One day I will drown and be dead.

In case some of you aren’t deep enough to get this, I will break it down for you.

So, there was like, this guy who, like, was so perfect that my love inspired me to listen to my Journey CD, like, 15 times in a row one night. He had, you know, the MOST AMAZING eyeballs. They were all watery and maybe, like, sort of hazel with tinges of gold. But my love is totally unrequited and he doesn’t even know, that, like, he’s killing my soul.

Unfortunately, when I was growing up, we didn’t have cell phones or the internet or even the Twilight novels, so we spent a lot of time writing lovesick poems.

Maybe next time I’ll share the poem where I purposefully misspell the word cry (crie) because I thought I was being avant-garde.

If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to find my Journey CD.