SOPPY

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

THE ONLY ONE YOU'D SEE

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

Mulitple Angst Poetry

My name is Lisa Cashley, I wrote all three of these poems over a short period of time in which i broke up with a violent boyfriend and then had to abort the baby we had concieved together. I found it helpful to write a poem about the loss and then I don't know really I suppose it just became an addictive way to let it all out. I think either "life sucks and i want to die", "I am alone and no-one understands my pain" or "more than like poems"


You!

I’ll dry my tears
I don’t need your arms
I don’t need your hold
I can do this alone
You weren’t there,
You don’t know how it feels
You don’t want to be here
You should go…leave.

My heart was broken
My eyes did cry
Not for you
For it.
For the loss
For the pain
For the life
For the name
For Baby.


So young


These bruises bare no image of you,
My mind passing over that night
What night
Those nights
Over and over
Again and again
No stopping
Until I fell to limp to fight back
Scarred, scared, helpless.

A baby,
So young, me.
So alone,
No-one
Not even you
Dad…I don’t know how,
But yes. A call
A cry for help, you’re not there.
A want, a need, a hunger,
A joy
A life
A child
Taken away
Just like that.
No care, no love, no memory
Dead!

Nothing
Not you, not it
Just me
Alone again
This time for ever
Alone
Me.




A never ending prayer

1, 2, 3
I won’t stop counting,
The weeks
The months
The years

Always on my mind
In peace
In bliss
In happiness
You’ll be

A never ending prayer
Of sadness
Of joy
Of pain
How suddenly you left me

It’s ok, don’t cry,
I’m here
I’m sorry
You’ll always be in my heart.
I’m sad
You’re gone
I’m happy
You’re mine
You’re Baby
I’m Mum

I love you.

Untitled

Surrounded by caring and wealth, she cries
In these years it’s so hard to be strong.
“Everything’s perfect; my life satisfies
And that’s why it all feels so wrong.”

I say, “Stop chasing the grief you’re after,
There’s always a high to be found.
Your life is full of smiling and laughter,
But all you can see is the ground.”

She’s the most exceptional girl in the world
She could climb a mountain if she tried.
Now that she’s older, her heart has unfurled
And shown all the beauty inside.

All that she sees is what is above her.
Rather, I wish she could see that I love her.

By: Anonymous

Untitled

Energy I cant breathe
I'm so weak but i feel so strong
just keep holding on
It feels so wrong to be right
Take me away
To the greatest place
I shiver when you kiss
I jump when you touch
This feeling of bliss
I......

By: TerRanay Teague

Cherished One, Watched From Afar

If you stepped on me
Breaking my spine
Leaving the print of
Your running shoe on my forehead
I would frame the print in pewter
And lace my shattered spine with tulips

By: Heather Johnson

New Teen Angst Video!

Nathaniel is one of my favorite “Teen Angst” readers. This includes the poem with the line “you make love to my corpse.” The back-story to the poem is also pretty awesome.

The next Teen Angst show is July 8 at the Railway Club (7:30 - 9pm, as always). Our theme is hot summer nights/ teen sexy stories. Nathaniel has promised to bring out his ‘erotic’ teen angst poetry. I can’t wait!!!!

If you want to read some diaries/ poems/ songs/ letter etc e-mail teenangstpoet(at)gmail.com. Teen Angst love or/ more than like/ 'first time' stories are strongly encouraged!

Dear, 1.

beauty is an elusive goal
did you?
will you wait for me?
I'll come back and we'll
smash more bottles together
animal crackers too much
fat
your fingers are smooth
and
fat
but wonderful
with character
what can I say?
I'm confused
listening to that station that rocks.
as I sit here pondering --
are YOU worth it?
are WE worth it?
do I disappear and leave you forever?
again?

By: Theadora

When I "Thick Love" You

so precious
those moments
we were together
there
dark
in the dark
I held you forever
and you took my hand
help
somebody wake me up
I think I'm stuck in
last night

you told me your secrets
you fed my soul
as we lay there
our heads together
dark
in the dark
laying on some neighbor's grass
and oh, fuck it now
when a car came
help somebody wake me up
I think I'm stuck in
last night

well I'm leaving
and you're "moving on"
and I just cried for you
dark
in the dark
for all we had
it's gone
but help
somebody wake me up
I think I'm stuck in
last night


By: Theadora

you're here

you're here
i bare my chest
you're here with a henna kit
and as I lay down, you draw a
picture on my abdomen.
in my eyes, i reflect blue skies
free palestine protests, having him
and his girlfriend cheer me on from the bus
while i was standing on the
ledge by the Christmas tree.

you're busy with your work
marking me up aware that i am
here with my shirt off? letting you/entrusting
your hands to paint my body
that thickness dissolving my stomach? love?
yes, i feel you molding my skin, not for lust or eroticism, but for
into a platonic heart. later, it turns into a burnmark.

"more than like," -- 2003 -- I wrote this about ANOTHER person after I had a dream about him. I wanted to express my friendship. Needless to say, this caused more tension.

By: Theadora

The Bath Poem

I'm shining now. On the bus.
Hearing her voice. Imagining
a genderless lover.
Society
pins me up, locks me down m/f/m/f,
but I'm shining for the orgasms that are
safe to have in my bedroom.
With my parents close.
Shining.

"More than Like,"
O.k., so while I didn't have a lover, let alone a genderless lover -- and while it's creeepy that I talk about orgasms in the same poem as my parents, this poem was very important. You see, I had been reading a lot of Walt Whitman and discovered that I didn't have to like only girls. And through Walt Whitman's poetry, I realized that the discomfort I felt around actually being a girl was o.k. So Whitman, man, was a big step forward in claiming myself. I didn't recognize this at the time, though. Actually, I wrote "stupid fuckass poem" underneath it.

By: Theadora

Untitled

i cant rite a coherent line, love
cant rite what comes after a
comma, cant form those complexities
chill, baby, i'll see you tomorrow
i just cant weave my way around the natural
order -- telling of beads

"More Than Like" -- I don't remember who I wrote this about, and I don't remember why the natural order reveals the telling of beads.

By: Theadora

i want to give you a hug

i want to give you a hug

because i am enamored with you

it's important for you to be
familiar with your own body

your breasts are not going
to feel like a bowl of jelly
or raspberry jelly

i am quite tactile and getting a mini breast
to lump-search is very fun to squeeze
now i'm holding a testicle

"obvious metaphors," "more than like"

By: Theodora

Oh: One Love Poem

I want you to come back to this town.
I want to show you the lake again and I wish we had
actually held each other
like we used to and sometimes I'd rather be inside your
sweatshirt than "No G.O.P. 1988."
I want to talk to you about my gender issues,
which aren't really issues at all,
just normal
and I love your guitar
i didn't do my college comp homework
or my Spanish
but you, I did you

"more than like," "obvious metaphors"

By: Theodora

My Wymyn Life

oblivious,
life is such a new religion
compared to...

and for those of you who didn't know,
Virginia Slims -- such the epitome
of sexist advertising
and "I don't really like talking
about my life much"
cos "they're just titties"

She thinks she's dying, my dear. The
imprint of thirty-five year old
barbed wire. It's stuck. She needs to
talk, but stuck being one of those
under-age people. I
can't shove phone numbers in her face or places to test for STI's.
She's not eating. It's that image.

people making out on the couch above my head
thinking they know all about
love but they're only freshmen.
Not that I know any better.

I can feel her hair brush mine
such a cliche, but when she kisses
me and says something generic
like "iloveyou, you're awesome, let's hang out"

I had girl on my lips, in my ears,
through my hair.

The beautiful gay man
tosses me a dead flower which
I would have smashed between the pages,
but it was too,
purple.

By: Theodora

Theadora

Hi, Sara,

There are different stages of my teenage poetry. The first stage, which included a few I sent last batch from 2001, could be summed up as the "I don't know who I am and no one understands me!" poems. From there, I morphed into "no one understands me because I am a radical hippie feminist lesbian and I deserve to do my Goddess rituals indoors. My oppressive Catholic parents are obviously crunching my freedom." From there, my person poetry turns in the nature of questioning the universe, as well as my own gender (I haven't gotten there yet, though, in these e-mails -- right now we're just on the first two stages.") I hope something in all this is useful for the site.

take care, theodora


yearning: poem after a bath



she cries on the bus today

lemon on her tongue

and the absence of your words in her pocket



"normally, I hate choral music. But the men up there were speaking to us, singing to us, not beating us up."

-Kathy, after seeing the Twin Cities Gay Men's Chorus



she can crank out lines

that mean nothing

but she wants you to find

something in the pieces

that define her



her soul on a silver platter

move in take care don't touch come close

careful, she's hurting/burning

don't hold her too tight

don

t let her go



"…those images of Black men touching eachother gently will stay with me forever."

-Kathy

CATEGORY -- "White Middle Class Feminist Hippie Oppression," or "More than Like" --2004

By: Theadora

UNTITLED

UNTITLED

bleeding when she told
me she didn't know what she was
yes/ and if I was open, she was
open -- from my nose, that is
in her car

CATEGORY -- more than like, 2004

By: Theodora

SuburbanExcursion

I'd just like to start this by saying that these were
lyrics I wrote for my LONG defunct punk band Suburban
Excursion (we thought it was so funny to name our band
after two SUVs and then be Anti-Bush) in 2002, or --
sad as this is for me to admit -- my senior year of
high school in a small Montana town known as Anaconda.

The first one I think is just the scariest lyrics
ever, and I am oddly proud to say that they were
written about our guitarist's obsession with a girl
and not my own. Though, still...

Four years later (though I wrote the second song five
years ago after learning "power chords") I am amazed
that people came to our shows, and that I ever even
touched a girl.

Anyway, thanks for the site (and the book).

Cheers,
Pat Duganz





Untitled Valentine
By: the now defunct punk band Suburban Excursion
(This was our longest song)


I sit back and look out my bedroom window as I fade
into my own regret
Cause I'm not yours, not good enough for you

I don't wanna talk about it
I don't wanna think about it
I don't wanna look in the mirror today
Not today
(Repeat that twice)

Happy Valentine's Day my dear I hope you're happy
though I'm transparent to you
I can't see past these tears
I should go get lost, gone forever
Not ever here again, not ever again

I don't wanna talk about it
I don't wanna think about it
I don't wanna look in the mirror today
Not today
(Repeat that twice)

Now with your blue eyes and me without a care I can
see why we can't ever be together,
So happy valentine's day my love, I'll always be with
you, even when I'm gone, I'll still be with you

I don't wanna talk about it
I don't wanna think about it
I don't wanna look in the mirror today
Not today
(Repeat that twice)

What's he got that I don't have?
What's he got that makes you smile at him and turn
away from me?
I walk by and wonder why I can't be more like him
I walk by and wonder why I can't be more like him

(We had a bridge!)
Why I care about you, when you're so perfect, I'm
crumbling away and falling away without you.
Why I care about you, when you're so perfect, I'm
crumbling away and falling away without you.

(Now the chorus, but slow)

I don't wanna talk about it
I don't wanna think about it
I don't wanna look in the mirror today
Not today



Turbo Pop
By: the now defunct punk band Suburban Excursion


Too many questions always asked
Somedays I wish I could go away
Yeah no one ever understands the fight
I call my average day
Get out of bed to wash my head and face it anyway
Yeah but you're so cold I wanna find...
A warmer place to stay, to stay, to stay
A warmer place to stay, to stay, to stay

Step back, fade to black!
Step back, fade to black!

Too many memories long replaced
When I thought you were here to stay
All of my friends tell me that
You were a dumb slut anyway
I find it funny, think it's sad that you still ask to
be friends
But you're so cold I wanna find...
A warmer place to stay, to stay, to stay
A warmer place to stay, to stay, to stay
(Now with more feeling)
A warmer place to stay...

My Comet

Backstory: First heartbreak, age 17. I really did believe we would get married. no really, i mean it...i seriously thought it would end that way!! Ha! Anyhow...brace yourself...it pretty bad.


My Comet

when i met you i thought you were a comet

that we could sail through the universe together, riding the flames

now i walk through the imprinted earth that your

burned out comet has left

i wallow

i wade through the ashes and sulpher

and i seek you out in this mess.

all i can find of you has turned into powder.

when i met you i thought we could burn on forever.


By: Leanna.

Virginity Poem!

I have the original poem in a journal which, if you
like I can scan and send you a copy. I wrote it when I
was 18 in France, just after losing my virginity.


Mary B.

I saw you and my heart said yes
My mind said no
We are two strangers in each other's arms, walking
along cobbstone medieval streets
"How beautiful,"I remarked staring at my feet
"I prefer the ocean," you said looking in my eyes

And then we were intense and alive in a flash of
lightening as one
I was safe in the darkness
As I cannot see myself -
my sins
And before I could flee you said you loved me
Once inside you said that you would love me - but only
tonight
Penetrating for love that was never there and never
will be there

Let's be honest with each other
And admit who and what we have done
our insecurities
But let us lie about the fact that this act has
nothing to do with love

It is a search in emptiness
A long search to satisfy our burning hunger for
company
To pretend we are not alone, this is what we do
And the next day nothing more is said about the night,
because in reality it was
NOTHING

Inside me there are aching cramps for the return of
what you took from me
My innocense and trust
I want to go back, I do not want to go forward into
emptiness
Not knowing how to really show love

Because I have never made love!


By: Mary B.

Back Story:

I slept with Gautier Rowe because I didn’t want to go
to university a virgin. My mother sent me on a five
month ‘cultural immersion’ trip to her native France
where my aunt - the funky carmelite nun - was
homebase. It was February1992 and university started
that September so I needed to make significant
headway. I had already tried, unsuccessully, to have
sex with a boyfriend a few months earlier. Lack of
attraction to the acid-wash wearin’ guy made
penetration too dry and too painful so we gave up,
broke up and moved on.

After two weeks writing melancoly poetry at the
nunnery, a family friend invited me for the weekend to
medieval Dinan in Brittany. Their 18 year old
daughter, Maiwenn, wore fitted cashmere cardigans and
styled her hair in a loose bun looking impeccably
elegant. On Friday night Maiwenn took me to her
boyfriend Pierre’s party.

Pierre buzzed us into the 16th century wooden pillar
facade apartment. I adjusted my blue silk scarf,
having tossed aside a bulky Gap sweatshirt. Grunge
America had not reached these parts. At Pierre’s,
candles flickered a top tables garnished with
baguettes and blue cheeses. Olives marinated in
ceramic dishes alongside half filled bottles of
Bordeaux and Burgundy red. The harmonizing voices of
Simon and Garfunkel provided the musical underscore. A
brown haired, blue eyed and mature 21 year old Gautier
approached and offered me a glass of merlot. I never
looked back.