Angstoriffic High School Poetry

As the Naked Singularity series nears its end, I feel the need to embarrass and expose myself once more - not with pictures this time, but with really awful, angst and ennui-ridden poetry.

Laugh all you want. I know I am.

I do feel compelled to say, however, that this no longer reflects the style or content of my writing.

fit in

people spend their lives hiding feelings
original thoughts society's stealing
caring thoughts it seems they have none
hurting others gets nothing done
laugh, scoff, and ridicule
psychological warfare is their tool
deep down inside they wish to escape
the common ideas start to take shape
conforming is the disease of our society
leader of the clique the Deity
fuzzy-eyed followers walk behind
truthful thoughts they'll never find
inebriated with orthodoxy
loss of their souls is the fee
this is the corrosion of conformity

storm at sea

the purple petals of a peaceful plant
weave and bob in nature's chant
the wind blows strong, though not cold
nothing but nature is so old
babbling brooks stretch to the south
trickles and drips exit their mouth
shiny splinters of reflecting sun
glint on the horizon where water seems done
crests of fallen waves, white with foam
the water is free, ungaurded to roam
darkness rols in, the sky cries
above this blanket, brightness lies
roaring and churning, the maelstrom above
fish live under, with the peace of the dove,
hardly they notice, the maelstrom above.

staircase

my heart sinks. my mind drops.
the greatest emotion ever suddenly stops.
the staircase upon which i stood
splinters and falls away
a terrible cold rejection destroys
the immovable foundation of yesterday.
stolen away, never given the chance i deserve
all my rage for another day, i conserve.
torn apart like never before
a presence, a person, neither, nor
the once stable partnership between conscious
and subconscious
threatens to disintegrate from the inside out
and eliminate us.
I, a participant in this parody of feelings
know more than those outside the score
apinful as they are I withstand the peeling
I know no longer what I am, once more
I return to my staircase
I am no longer at the pinnacle
of my creation
I hide in the shadows beneath it
this is my station.

Some wits and aphorisms from a teenage me:

>day is an illusion, it simply divides the night.

>words are like animals, when they are cornered, they become violent.

>if you never try to understand, then don't bother to criticize.

>personality and honesty are the true soul

passable phrases I dug out of the mire:

...break this silk...altar of variety...transparency of body...I am 15 years old and fail to see how my own minds works, let alone others'.

Okay, that's more than enough. I can say though, that looking back through old notebooks reveals a consistency in theme that's shocking. Many of my poems (not necessarily those above), however awkwardly, dealt with identity, memory, degrees of transparency, and bodies at rest and in motion. I'm still captivated with those things today, and the stories I tell just attempt to work out some nuanced understanding of them. Even the story I'm telling you right now.