Monday, January 2, 2012

Teen Angst Poetry .com Is Done

This website is no longer up and active. Please feel free to browse some of the wonderfully angsty poetry that was submitted.

If you want a healthy dose of bad teen poetry please check out the book Teen Angst: A Celebration of REALLY BAD Poetry. (photo of cover above)

If you want to see a live show please visit

If you want to know more about the brains behind Teen Angst Poetry visit

Thanks for your love of bad poetry,


Sunday, September 20, 2009



TEEN ANGST is going to be a part of the 2009 Vancouver Comedy Festival.

Thursday September 24 7pm at the Westin Grand - and it's FREE!

Check it out:


Just to hold you close to me
Just to hear you talk
Just to take a walk with you
Would be enough
To make me see
That I like you enough
To do stuff
That I would never do
Unless it was for you
I'd pick flowers for you
There's no-one else who
I'd do these things for
Never done them before
Feels so strange
Try to rearrange
My feelings for you
Guess it must be true
I (probably) love you........

By: Anil A.
Circa: 1992
Age: 16


If I could tell you how I feel, you could make my dreams come real
Then maybe I could be, the only one you'd see
I try and find the words, explain how much it hurts
But all I do is F*$k up, end up wishing I had shut up
Not looking for a wife, but want more than a bit part in your life
So if you have some time to spare and are looking for someone who cares
Then maybe I could be, the only one you'd see.

By: Anil A.
Circa: 1992
Age: 16

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Untitled Sonnet

Again, I fell for it, the same ole' dating routine.
I saw you, I loved it, until I saw the real thing.
You acted like you were "the stuff" and tried to push me away.
I rejected that attitude and came closer trying to stay.
You turned your back repeatedly, making me feel bad.
You even yelled at me once because I made you mad.
You cut me off in sentence once to shut me up right then.
You squeezed your eyes and walked away, and left me alone again.
 I watched you walk the longest way, again I felt so awful.
 But, I'll never stop thinking of you, or how you are so wonderful.
By Sydney Stewart    

Untitled Poem

When away 
I feel okay 

I get home 
Sink into my regular depression 
Self pity, self loathing 
Self analysis 
What a wimp 

I hate this life 
What comes ahead 
What was 
What is 
We are born to die 

Go to school 
Work for fifty years 
Another ant come and gone 
That's all we are 

If you think you're different 
You're Wrong 
If you choose optimism 

I wish I could 
I try, but my brain 
Won't have it 

Cursed to a life of self pity 
Self loathing, pessimistic 

By Eric Newport

Untitled Poem

Wherever I am 
Whoever I'm with 
Apathy sits in the pit of my soul 

Melodramatic my writings may be 
Expressive of thoughts and feelings they are 

Accurate Depth 
Perception falls short 
Writing with ease 
Flowing with words 
Empty of meaning 
Without direction 

My brain is wrinkled 
With repetitive thoughts 
Of petty introspection 

Feeling worthless

By Eric Newport

Monday, August 10, 2009

Untitled Poem note: Not entirely sure if this is an authentic Teen Angst Poem or an adult angst poem channeled through the bad rhymes of a Teen Angst one.

Am I gifted or cursed for the way that I think?
Have I been given something extra or am I missing a link?
Nothing ever seems complicated or too hard
and I happily go that extra yard.

I see things in patterns and approach things one step at a time;
however I am at a loss to explain my downward climb.
I have always been different and have never fit in.
So many questions I don’t know where to begin.

Is there anyone else out there at all?
Maybe you are the one who should answer my call.
I can’t be the only person who loves to work and live alone,
who reads and writes and hates the phone.
I can never be myself around people I know
and it is a huge effort to keep up the show.
I pretend to be stupid and I never make waves,
bosses seem happier when working with slaves.
I work twice as hard and never complain.
I put up with ignorance and listen to the truly insane.
I lower myself to have half the chance.
Nobody likes a smarty-pants.

I never claimed to be brilliant, but I can’t change what I know.
I swallow my pride and secretly grow.
I need none of the things that people work for.
Although they are nice to have around, I need something more.
What that something is I have yet to find out.
Until then I will quietly accomplish my goals without any doubt.

Everyday something happens that hurts me deeper inside.
A struggle each time to go on or runaway and hide.
So many things in this world that don’t make sense
and closer to home on the same side of the fence.

No one cares about anything at all.
They do their eight hours and disappear behind a wall.
Everyone rips everyone else off.
People are treated like pigs in a troph.
Most people accept that they have to work,
but they take the fun out of it and just go bezerk.

All the rules and regulations.
The lawyers and courts and masturbations.
Schoolyard politics, techno and rap!
Nothing left to enjoy, I am surprised we don’t snap.

Why have tertiary pressures to succeed,
when there are not any jobs for the many that need.
I have painted a grim picture that affects us all.
These problems can be fixed when broken down small.
I program myself daily not to worry about things I can’t control.
I predict the things I can, a one in six chance each time I roll.

By Matt Carroll

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Fuck You Poem

You said you'd love me
But you won't
You think I'll stand for it
Well, I won't
So, fuck you, you piece of poo
Like a piece of crap I can't get off my shoe
I'll laugh as you gasp and sputter
Trying to take a breath
I'll throw your body into the gutter
After your painful death
As your body falls, I will rise
Tears of joy shall stream from my eyes
As your body is slowly being eaten by flies
But no one will go to your funeral
Because you SUCKED as I recall

- Written by Devan Daly, 1985


In silence the air trembled, every movement caused the table to shutter. Millimeter by huge millimeter I shook towards the edge, this is not direction I would choose to go, if I were actually alive. I am an empty glass, alone, unable to help myself. If I were to fall the pain would last just seconds, for I would be the only one grieving. Then I clattered off the table. The glass spilled into fragments like tiny blades scattering across the floor. The event lasted seconds, but the following trials would last much longer. For if there was not a foolish infant crawling along the floor unable to reason, then a boy would not have to chase after it... but the boy did, and in that same moment glass flipped into his eye. Screaming in agony, the boy fell unto to the floor, his body only met more shards. Sharpened glass hit arteries, a red pool swirled around him. The paler he got the more crimson stained, his body sliced into pieces bled. After mush flailing the glass blades completely disfigured him. He died. Two things gone. The baby startled, as was the mother and the process started over. Please don't leave us on edge, we'll get revenge.

by: Eimile McIlnay 1983