Bad poetry? Oh noetry. Indeed.

As I continue my crazied spring cleaning, I pause to share with you some of what I just found buried in old notebooks and syllabi from old high school classes. I was a prolific poet in high school. This was before I was told poems shouldn't necessarily rhyme. This was before a certain professor told me I was no good, told me I was too vague. And yeah, I really am here, but I read these and know exactly what I was talking about: the pain of dating someone who called to say he had to work late, that would be by later to pick me up, who showed up with bloodshot eyes and a stink on his clothes. The pain of seeing a good friend start smoking, start taking up with boys she shouldn't take up with. And one poor imitation of Emily Dickinson.

I know you all have a stack of these too, so don't judge me. Diana and Jess--you two are the reason I would ever have the courage to share these with the world. I know you have these.

I was pretty pleased with this at one time (I changed the line structure so it isn't three pages long):

"Perfect Chance"

Pierce my skin with the pins you possess
Cover my mouth as I cry in distress
I feel your eyes watching as I try to undress

In a perfect stance
You send me a perfect glance
As I walk away missing the perfect chance

So smile, knowing I'll slowly crumble
Forgetting my feet, I start to tumble
Content to be silent and humble

Yes I will gladly give you this dance
I'll think of your name in my solo seance
And I'll walk away missing the perfect chance

**

This one is totally badass:

Is anybody winning the games that we play?
I'm ready to quit and think that I may.
Dreams are coming true and lies are no longer false.
Please tell me if I'm alive, I don't feel a pulse.
Leave me alone, what have I done wrong?
So I sing the wrong words, well I don't like your song.

**

I wrote this right before I broke up with the guy who smoked too much pot and had a love affair with KoRn:

It's time to say good-bye
I'm in need of no more stares
Evidence shows it's gonna hurt
but unlikely you will care.
You've gotten what you wanted
but at the expense of something great
You I've come to know and love
but there's too much that I hate.
I'm sorry I must say this
but it's time to let you go.
I'm slightly disappointed
but I'll never let it show.
Nor will I run to someone else
no need for fucking men (hmm--is this used as a verb or adjective?)
All I'll do is sit and wonder
what it was, what it could have been.
So sorry, it's time to say good-bye
forgiveness, I couldn't find.
Turn around and shut the door
before I change my mind.

And another:

Just a substitue love
as long as you're living
I pretend not to notice
I continue forgiving
It doesn't seem to matter
if we meet or if we miss
You forget about me
until you need a kiss
You deny any truth
in this story I tell
If this is heaven
we all must fear Hell.

**

Me being pensive (I don't see vagueness in this one at all...)

"Concept of Self"

I know what I want.
And I know who I am.
I am somebody who wants to think
that I know who I am.
Isn't that a wonderful concept of self?

**

Ok, last one for you to suffer through. This is my homage to Emily Dickinson. Or my attempt at least:

"Running to the Cemetery"

Running to the cemetery
wanting to be free
Running faster than ever before
won't let life catch up with me

Unable to be defiant
can't interact alone
Perfection is a garish pity (I was also reading the dictionary around this time)
won't be your perfect clone

It wouldn't work, you're undefined
And I am unremorsed
I wouldn't want to waste my time
allowing you to be discoursed (yes, yes I used discoursed. I know a certain comp guy who would love that.)

And that's my lovely Friday gift to you. Now I ask this-- what secret poems do you have sitting in a box somewhere? Pull them out, enjoy them for an hour, and then share them with the world though you've sworn many times you never would. Good day.