I used to write tons of poems when I was in high school. It was nice to not be judged or graded on them, because I only wrote them so I wouldn't explode, kill myself or kill someone else. That's why many of the poems are downers.
However, I am proud of them. I'm a better writer now, technically, but I don't have that boiling urge to write like I used to.
My style of poetry was usually open, but I really liked to employ alliteration and sometimes rhyme, just to have the pleasant sounding rhythm. I really liked using line breaks and stanzas to highlight certain words or juxtapositions. I hunted for perfect words, browsing thesauruses and dictionaries for definitions for the words I was yearning to type.
Here are a few of those poems from the depths of my teenage years:
Cold Thoughts Over Breakfast
It seems That recently Dreams Can materialize with ease If one pries eyes wide And grieves holes in old lives To what do I owe This esteemed grace of His That brings bounty and bliss To those worthy Or missed? And while I lounged solitary Pensive, I wandered I sifted through thought and Sketched skeletons Drank medicines Stood frozen and fixated On the tips of my lips I recall touching each mirror I had the privilege to meet; “Oh, how she flaunts her frosted frailty” I’ve tested the surfaces For spots of weakness (For faults furrow meek) That proved I could hold What I’ve seen What I’ve schemed My own grace esteemed But to me, it’s a strange thing It’s not quite sad It’s the sound of walls sighing Why was I dozing When He delivered these dreams? |
This poem identifies my belief in God, which reoccurs in my other pieces. I chalk up the most universal questions and decisions to my maker, and I believe God is a poet like me. God the the being with the burden of making things live and die and succeed and fail. So in this poem I ask him, why was I overlooked? Why aren't my dreams realized? Am I not strong enough?
The Beauty of Buoyancy
To lie in a pool of green, still water
To watch beads of bile roll across her palms
To drink the juices of a cancerous sea
All is quiet, as all is smothered.
Who would recognize
Or understand
The beauty of a body’s buoyancy?
There are diamonds in the murk
Calling to the gray in her skin
The snakes in her hair try to will their way free
The brown lace on her back
Dissolves at the waters’ teeth.
To float facedown in a pool of green water
To look upon her guiltily
As she is carried along rows of brittle trees
Collecting their secrets and sailing with peace.
This morbid little ditty is probably one of my favorites from then. Yes, it's about a dead body floating in a pond. But I think I captured (what I imagined were) the stunning visuals of such a sight. This marks one of my best points of visually vivid writing, which has come to serve me well in my creative writing. I also quite like the title. As a depressive girl, writing this poem allowed me to celebrate my "unconventional" ideas of beauty and peace without leaving me begging for my own death.
The Edge of It All
Nothing led me to the edge of it all
And I stepped forward on bated soles
“Do you see now,” he breathed into the wind-
“Do you see now what you could have been?”
Abandon all faith, for we believe in nothing
Ours is a time of acting without tact.
I am not of their denomination
Their generation, their reputation
They rest with ease in seats
of decay
Diseased and soured with saccharin smiles
Yet if I were to expire
in the arms of indifference,
Would they recognize the flight as a cry for help?
Or could they see my blitzkrieg leap as
an act of living poetry?
My ‘‘actual reality’’
Is to be with Nothing himself
So if I drink ale of a darker brew
And bathe in the waters of a darker blue
And realize that I don’t need any of you
Would you look down upon me too?
When the heavens open and the fires descend
Believe in what you see
My courtesy
Arms spread, skidding on weary feet-
I, unlike you
Will
Bend
at the edge of it all.
This one became my most popular poem on the art/networking site called deviantART.com. I had a little gallery of works going, and when I posted this one, on January 27, 2005, it got a a bit of attention from other users. To date it has been my most viewed and commented upon poem. Again, it's strange looking back at this writing, because it was five years ago and that's a long time when you're young. I was sixteen years old and I thought I knew every-fucking-thing. I didn't, but I did know that I was very much alone in my thoughts and convictions at that time and place. I suppose there were others like me, but I felt like an alien in high school, surrounded by straight-up fools, being forced to works towards an undesirable end and challenging myself with art and writing. Ever the abstract thinker, I know this poem is a bit nonsensical, but it was liberating to declare that "I am unlike you, and I will not need your validation."
Quite the trip down memory lane! I'll finish off with a poem I actually wrote in college. It is hard to find inspiration once your life starts getting good, and it did get good in college. However, you can always rely on asshole boyfriends to bring out the worst in you. This poem was written specifically for and inspired by my last boyfriend (shudder).
Binge and Purge
Binge and purge
My feelings for you:
Jealousy
Makes me sick from every tip
Insecurity
Tethers me to the chair
Curious fears rewind and play
Over and over and over
And holes burn into my stomach
With the hint of your betrayal
And yet
You've given me nothing to lose
Addiction
I need to feel special
Your reluctant gift to me
Always breaking your promises
And I
Just smile like a pretty pet
And try to mesmerize you
With confidence
And charms
That I do not possess
I am as ugly as corpse
When I am
With you
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