Monday, December 22, 2008

Mona Lisa Smile

You tell me to smile
I need to smile more often
I suppress the roll of my eyes
but keep my lips pursed down in defiance

For I am not your puppet
Nor your marionette nor your little drummer boy
Nor god forbid
Your barbie doll

And though you press my buttons,
Please remember that you do not pull my strings.

For what do you know of my sadness?
Of the things I see or feel or think
on lonely nights and dreadful days
for which there is no sunrise or set

But one long, hellish today
for which the skies are forever overcast
insides are always squirming
And your shoes never match.

Barred within this nightmare by the torture insomnia
And you command me to smile.

You tell me I need to smile
But where is the substance in a smile?
But lies and cons and deception of the trickiest sort
masked behind sincerity of chemically-whitened teeth

Who are you to dictate my disposition
But to preserve your own comfort
as you rest your head
on down-feather pillows?

I do not drag you into my sorrow
So why must you me into your ignorance?

Ask me to smile when children are starving
as we sit around Thanksgiving dinner getting fat off our own gluttony
Paying money that can save hundreds of lives
on diet plans and liposuction.

Ask me to smile at my own good fortune
The roof overhead and clothes on my back
and food in my belly to help me sleep
But it does not sedate my conscience.

And when you tell me to smile
That same conscience hurls up bile
and the acid burns my brain so bad
I beg God for a lobotomy

Choking on my own thought vomit
making my throat choke and my eyes water
with tears.
Not for my pain, but for you, and your ignorance.

You tell me I'd be so much prettier if I would just smile
As I consider how pretty you'd look buried six feet underground
Then perhaps I shall find a reason to smile.

By: Eileen C

Tuesday, September 30, 2008


Hey, Im just writing you to say that your show on the 30th at Bumbershoot was unbelievably amazing.

I knew it had to be spectacular with a name like Fuck Off and Die: Tales in Teen Angst Poetry, but yeah. Possibly the best show of Bumbershoot this year.

I was also wondering if, by chance, at some point in the future you would be coming back this way to Seattle. Because if you are I would really really like to know, cause Ive been spreadin' the word and people 'round here definitly want to see your show now. Well, yup. What's needed to be said has been said.


Nick Jones from MySpace

-Sadly Nick I am in the UK for at least a year. Check out for all of my upcoming performance dates and locals... as of now there are none. :(


Sunday, September 21, 2008

My blackheads

These blackheads on my skin forcing themself deeper
i am a thick tar of unholy thoughts,
my mind is savage and twisted i think of death and destruction,
although my passive side is of a clownish figure
i cant put it any otherway i live to please others.

My blackheads slowly grow and pulsate,
My dark thoughts race,
my mind used to be filled with suicide and hatred,
all i can see now, myself is hurting you,the unsightly scum
who are currently populating this filthy fucking earth.

my body is now smothered in these filthy black spots
school friends are the worst,they make you try to feel like shit
even though many people dont realise.
haha your so fucking hilarious,
i didnt realise what you were till now

the boils of pulsating blackness,
i can no longer breathe without nearly crying
i scream i cry but nothing improves.
my knuckles crack into your skull as i sit there;
happily among the fairys,in this pointless class

Hot white putrid is now pouring all around.
i scream,shout,cry all in one
i cant take no more you stupid sack of shit!
maybe if you opened your eyes you would've seen
all that i've seen
over these past 4 years...

By: William Johns

the "B" word

No one told me the "B" word, I learned in on my own
No- it isn't bitch, I thought I was alone
Until one day I heard it on the radio
So did my dad from me, on the patio
B-I sex-u-al, the like of both sexes
And soon everyone found out, even all my exes
That I was a bisexual living a double life out there
Not like there were many to care
That at night I dreamed of this one girl
Enough to make my father hurl
But I liked that guy from science too
And my people were a diein few
We grouped together, reached out
And then the names came about
We aren't dikes or fags
Or criminals or hags
We are normal people you see
Happy and normal as can be
So how do you like that Bush?
Stick that in your juice box and suck it.
Like Clinton did to Lewinski

by K. Hill

I kissed you first

I kissed you first
But you kissed back
We closed our eyes
The world turned black
The people teased
Said, 'Get a room!'
Never watered our love
A flower that needed to bloom
So you'll hold her hand
And I'll hold his
Leave behind what was
And accept what is.

By: Alison Ferrera (1983)

I'd just broken up with my first boyfriend, a shy guy that I'd liked for ages, and as soon as it was out that we were over, a friend of mine asked him out and a friend of his asked me out, and we both said yes. I didn't really like my new boyfriend, and I was certain he didn't like her. He couldn't possibly be over me, right?

Forbidden Fruit

You partake of my forbidden fruit
my innocent sweet juices you drink

Dialated eyes
burn like cyanide
lips rough
brush against mine
your poison kisses
all over me
calested hands
hold onto me
tormenting grip
long gritty nails
dig in
released with my bloody flesh

your engraved in me
in my skin
in my mind
you gave me your disease
your sick obsession
poured your dirty filth all over me
covering me
filling me with emptiness
debasing me

you evaporate into my skin
soak through my veins
flow through my blood
intoxicating me with your sick fascination
infecting my mind with your twisted nature.

By: kaili mills

She sits in a room

She sits in a room full of
Shattered records with
Lost keys twisted and
Knotted in her hair.
Spiders crawl over her eyes
And her hands are full of
Crumpled valentines.
Often she asks her pet books,
"And how the heck
Can you respect
People who take out
The swear words?"
She then eats her breakfeast
Consisting of
dimes, metal aces, and
cracked guitar picks.

By: Joanna Tenney

Epic Poem

Candy C. Williams lay quite still in her casket
Like a pretty dead doll in a little girl’s basket.
George was first at the funeral, by her coffin he stood.
His face was sculpted steel, his were hands rotting wood.

A week before Candy was alive, but not well.
Under quite a horrid and sickening spell.
She climbed in the bath dressed in a veil
Staying under the water till she turned bluely pale

George walked in the tomb before she had faded
She might be alive if he could have aided
The fight against death wasn’t much of a tussle
George lacked the strength and much needed muscle

He couldn’t tip the tub and
He couldn’t lift her up.
All that wimp could do
Was scoop up the water in red plastic cups
So there, right in front of him,
A young sweet thing died.
Just another tragic case
Of preventable suicide

George was wracked with guilt
Black tears streamed down his face
His mind was beginning to wilt
Without Candy in her place.


Enter Norma in Scarlet, some could call her a whore,
Tripping over her bra strap as she came through the door.
Not far behind, held taut by the core
Was her Drag King in rags that dripped to the floor.

Molly came in next, her violet eyes mean and riled.
Like the surgeon aborting your perfect brain child
Her soul almost gone, her heart now exiled.
The checkerboards in her brain were perfectly tiled

George could handle it when Norma came too close to tell
Inhaling near him saying, “How I rancid smells.”
But when she mixed his tears for an alcoholic drink
It sent him soaring and skipping off his sanity’s brink.

He lashed out. Slipped–In Cleopatra just wouldn’t cry.
So George began shaking newspapers for a goodbye
He suffocated her honest lies so tight in his fist
Cleopatra’s painted eyes hazed over in a radioactive mist.

Molly pounced on the moment to sing her complaints
Of how she disliked funerals and seeing dead saints,
“I hate seeing my shadow alive in the mirrors,
A creature darting in and out of their fears.”
Norma turned to her and smoked in her ear,
“Molly, your lip liner seems to have smeared”

A change of the channel.

Candy disappeared
The scene was just glass.
George kept watching TV
Sitting on his fat butt.

By: Joanna Tenney


What a sweet, acidic way
To perform a version of “Roman Holiday.”
Sitting Criss-Cross,
We giggle uneasily at the plastered mafia kids
As their guns convoltingly spiral
On the mirrored pavement.
Baby-doll eyes motley roll over
And their facades turn to ashes, ashes,
They all fell down.
Your polluted voice
Once again repeats that it’s a
Tragic event that should numb absurdity and
Freeze my laugh to the needle tears
Corroding in my aluminum conscious.
I glance at the pious little mask you’ve
Mordantly glued to your face,
Delighting in the consensus,
And our cackles wickedly explode like a
Million toys being blown to bits.
Do you truly love being shackled to ugliness,
Or are you just achingly plotting
Until the skeleton limbs on the clocks
Tick-Tock to your cue so you can
Snatch back what you lost?
You might want to put on some rose
Colored glasses before you’re blinded by
The newsflash:
Mr. Detective has finally concluded
That speaking in code is sleazily diluted.
So maybe next we could jump on trampolines
In a hopeless attempt to
Unlocking windows in the memory-stained sky.
You under-handedly mention my recent
Homemade cosmetic surgery,
The very first line in our script
Which will feature some
Psychedelic chances
And on-purpose trances
In our completely pointless but oh so lovely
Life-and-death Puppet show.

Long Untitled

She clings to the walls
Like the paint peeling from the rampart.
Someone must have forgotten to mention
That you should never
Paint your roses black
When wearing an evening gown
Torn from magazines and sewed together
With saccharine lies.
It isn’t the most flattering thing to don.
Actually, she could completely understand
Why he gave her nothing more then
A disgusted,
Almost non-existence
Side-ways glance

Every possible love vein had long been
Severed and snapped with a rusty
Odium knife clenched by both of them
But she can’t help noticing
That way he turns his head just
So that everything clicks into place
His hair sheens to ragged snow
Momentarily calming his harsh face.

Once upon a time, that look was hers
His face wrapped in aura with foil and glittering
But its occurrence was frayed,
Pulled and stretched with habitual remembering.
Now it was only a nostalgia she’s
Pretty sure she had just invented herself
Lying awake in her cradle one night.
The only differences now between the
Memory rotting in her head
And the way he is staring now is that the
Hinges on his mouth swing open a little more,
His eyes erotically wandering over his
Someone old,
Someone new,
His someone different
Has made her blue.

Yet, it’s a little hard to have
A prominent nose turned up at you,
To be constantly wearing a
Melting neon sign inscribed with
Warning: Eye contact with Miss Monster
Could send you shooting through Your
Mind for an Unpleasantly Painful and/or
Embarrassing Flashback.

Someone serves him sugar and ice,
But he chews on lipstick instead.
She sighs with the sad, sad
Realization that he’s
Just a tacky plastic knight whose
Chivalry has a motive that’s slightly less
Then completely honorable.
But, euthanasia has always needed a reason.

His grimy caramel voice
Ricochets off the walls and
Twists in her ears like a razor windmill.
So she turns away to the hammering of the
Three radios playing at once
The sacrifices being compared,
“Well I have my vendettas,
Just look at my wrists.
Oh hell hath no scorn,
Then one who’s been kissed.

By Joanna Tenney

It’s a party.

It’s a party.
The citizens are adorned in Ashen and Crimson,
With their sequined yarmulkes
Jauntily askew on their foreheads,
Diamond Rosary’s twisted between their fingers
And Mardi-Gras beads
Wrapped twice round their necks.
The hymn version of “Mr. Brightside”
Is ballroom danced to,
With it’s harmonies being Shot and
Resurrected again through metal.

By: Joanna Tenney


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

By: TerRanay Teague


Words cannot articulate
The ways
In which
Except it's an odd sort of murder
NEVER has any human being been the target of such
Nauseating rage from my direction.
Because no one has loved me enough to hate me so much.
It's flattering, in a
It's funny that you think you could've loved someone you clearly knew nothing about.
Gosh, I'm sure sorry that you DON'T OWN ME
DON'T LET ME DIE before I destroy this,
One perfect lie at a time.
'Can we please be civil?'
Man, THOSE were the days...
Two weeks ago
When I thought there was half a chance you were human.
But how I have learned since then...

By: Lucy Weiland

I can't sympathize

I can't sympathize
I can't understand
No, I don't know what you're going through
Because I guess everyone is happy with me
BUT me
And I'm sick of that
And I'm sick of rejecting people
And I'm sick of people thinking I have everything figured out.
I don't know ANYTHING.
Just please, once, finally, take my word for it.

By: Lucy Weiland

You've wrapped your arms

You've wrapped your arms around a lifetime that no longer exists
A lifetime we've lost
And it's not your fault
Maybe it's not even my fault
But it was over anyway...
So now I'll remember what it's like to hug my pillow for company
I won't be showing up tomorrow
And I hope that you won't call me again
Because just two hours later, we were almost okay again
But it can't ever really be okay again, you know?
Please say you understand...

By: Lucy Weiland


On this night, like every other night, tears burn your eyes.
There is no longer a purpose, nor even a desire to search for one.
Familiarity, is all.
Who you cry for is inherently unimportant.
Spill over your lashes; lick up the tracks.
Taste the adversity of paralyzing fear.
Sodium lamentation without a cause hits the mahogany dinette,
and its splash lands in your coffee.
You eat, sleep, breathe painless suffering.

By: Lucy Weiland

Short Poem

Shoot for the moon
Shoot yourself.

By: Brenda Skinner

Death's Sonnet

A lifetime of pain of pain, of sorrow, of joy
A lifetime so short, so carelessly played
My days like a game, my time like a toy
The toy, now broken of which I'm afraid
I've always had dreams, I hoped that someday
These dreams would come true, little did I know
That forever can end, days fade away
and the time, once my friend, now is my foe
Oh if morning brings life to those who sleep
I live in the night, forever awake
Though through darkness so thick, morning shall creep
My night time will stay, no more time can I make
So many days wasted, so few words said
My last days swinging by death's brittle thread.

By: Rhonda Miller

Friday, September 19, 2008


Slowly descending,
Cold and deceitful,
I see them so clearly
In the moonlit sky.
The blades of death,
The shining crystal,
It rubs against my skin.
I don't feel pain,
Just coldness of the dark,
The chill of early morning dew.
It's the blood that I feel flowing.
It's life the I keep swallowing.
Release me from the grips of death.
It holds me so...
I can no longer breathe,
Please let me go...

By: Alisa Popova

'From a potential member of an insane assylum'

I want to kill the fucking tumor
that possesses me.
It eats my brain alive
and nibbles on my soul.

The monster of the dark and gloom:
it laughs a shrilling laugh
each time I suffer
another panicking desire
to die and drown in tears and blood

I walk along a hallway,
behind me is life.
It's over, and I gave my best attempts,
And now I have
Nothing else to give.

Now why, you ask,
Why is it so?
What is the reason?
I don't even know.

Yes, I don't know
And don't you bother asking
I'm just mad and
I need to be put away.
(Perhaps into an insane assylum..?)

By: Alisa Popova

'Drink up my sweet, the game is over'

Yes, there it goes again.
Rip, rip... I rip paper.
Snowflakes, flying everywhere.
So beautiful, like angels.

But the messages they carry
are far worse than blasts of rain.

Sweet winged angels
with souls of pure evil.
Sipping acid in the sunlight,
playing their little games
of razorblades and laughter.
Such carefree detachment...

The sudden cracking of my brain
has gone away, asleep and well.
The beating on the window of rain
puts me to rest. How fake.

The game is on and I'm a victim.
Angelic feathers tickle hearts,
They play and giggle.
...little feathery wings,
Stop tickling my life!

The blade's too sharp,
it's cold.
My blood is colder.
The sockets of my eyes are cold
and wet with dew of death.

Thick waves of life...
I'm finally alive!
I wasn't wrong, my heart is red
and red with blood! head has lost its purpose,
the blood flows free.
The angels' game is finished.

But wait, they are no angels...
I see their disguise at last.
Acidic cups are empty now
and they will never sting again.
The wings were fake,
sweet buttercups were demons...

I didn't wake,
I was still dead.
Life never came.
It all stayed still.

By: Alisa Popova

The Earth's core is calling out for my heart.

They sing of democrats and saving dolphins
And all the while I'm ripped apart,
In slow motions death reaches for me
And pours oceans of tears on my heart.

There's always controversy, and I can never choose,
I'll never take a side, I'll never be a native
Of anything. And everywhere life sings
Of the alien, who happened to be a girl.

I'm never good enough for anything,
I'm always 'almost', almost there...
One step away, not quite the one.
And once again the Center grips me.

The Earth's core is calling out for my heart.
It died almost three times now,
And always it's my own fault,
Unable to do anything about it.
Finally, it's an eternal bleeder.

It bleeds out of nowhere,
Soaking my soul in it's red disease.
There's no way to fix a thing,
Don't wase your time on me.

They say I'm good enough for praise,
But I am not the one who's praised.
I am unnoticed, I am invisible,
...And it's my own fault.

No, I am not the one who's loved,
I am the one who cries,
who wounds herself in hopes of nothing
who suffers pain inside and lies...

Lies to herself
Pretending she is simply crazy.
Lies to the world:
'That's only me, and nothing more'.

But that's not 'me' at all...
What's left of her
Shut itself tight
Inside the cubicle that is her soul.

Save Mother Earth. Protect the whales.
End wars, make peace,
Concern yourselves with things.
Don't pity my pathetic self too much,
And slowly but surely
Forget my poem and me.

By: Alisa Popova


Get the edges first.
I want penetration.
Your masculine force:
rough wires rolling over tensed muscle,
you are poised to pry.
I keep up my guard to screen out all those who think they know me.
I hope that one day someone will define me.
I hide in my shell, I am safe. Safe. Safe.
I hurt myself in here, but no one else can match the damage I do inside.
Figure out the puzzle.
Snap me into place.
(Hint: The last piece is hidden under the cushion, in the poodles intestinal tract, in the crisper drawer.)
I want you for the distraction.
Someone elses pieces unfamiliar.
We both know how this works.
Like kids at grammas Christmas party,
We mummur and squint
Curse the lighting, the image, the late hour,
Come on, fit already!

By: Dana Ovsak

La nuit noire (the black night)


Sitting here in darkness
This cold and solemn evening
Snow falls like tears that spill from my eyes
Making me shiver
Numbing my bones
Hardening my soul
Piercing it and letting it bleed red drops of blood
There is not a star to be seen
No moon
No light
No hope.
Just the two hands of this clock that ticks eternally
Spinning round and round with each day and
Being bound by this shroud of black
This warm body floating in this cold sea
Pain and anger swimming around me
Preparing to devour me when I die
Now, I see nothing, for my eyes are shut.
Usually open to all light, they now are closed to this misery that pounds upon this gate of mine
The sky is filled with grey clouds
Those solitary grey clouds
Those solitary grey feelings that everyone feels
No one knows about me
Everyone's asleep in their beds
While I'm out here
Maybe I can make a fire
They will see me
Flock to me
This fire, it will burn hot
Embers that will melt the snow
The icy rivers -- they will flow blue
Like those eyes I see in my head
The memory keeps me here
Thinking about me.
Those eyes.
That face burnt into my soul
It will never leave me
I can see it now,
Can it see me?
Lying here in vain, here on this rock
Maybe this stone has been here longer than me
Probably not.
Don't leave again
You leave like the snow in the spring
My body -- it aches from the cold
It aches from no sleep -- it aches from no love
Hoping that those eyes will find me
I am so faithful
Not letting go of this hand which holds me over a cliff
I will wait here until my blood rushes through my veins no more.
My eyes -- they are still shut
-and I will wait for you until my eyes won't be able to open.

By: Leana Clothier

hanging on the floor

hanging on the floor
a woman lingers.
tying the rope to her feet,
devoting trust
into nothing.
dreaming of caressing
driven nowhere.
hanging on the floor.

By: Stacey McClure

Goodbye Letter

It started out in 1977, god dropped you a little gift from heaven
Two parents struggling to do the best they can, giving it all to the child they had
Love kept them together through the years, always caring for me and wiping my tears
I miss the closeness we once had, when I think about it- it makes me feel so bad
I used to be able to tell you everything, keeping no secrets and having no shame
Where is the loving father I once knew? I wish I could say my love for you has only grew...
But you make me angry and pissed off, and I want out-
That's why I am leaving here for good with out a doubt
I hope you enjoy your new life here without me, all quiet and stress free
Just remember the choices you made, you brought
me to this, the path has been paved
I'll be out of here by dawn- I hope you'll miss me when I am gone........

By: anonymous

*I wrote and left this for my parents before I hitch hiked (via truckers) with 2 girlfriends from Eugene OR to San Francisco CA to live a more glamourous life..."

a bottle of black clouds

a bottle of black clouds
to release it is to conform
so sip it from the side
for all you want is near.

the words of a wild woman
they vent through a caustic crematorium
a gas chamber for your enjoyment
it moves inside of your veins, deep

make it mine, all mine.
all mine.

By: Jordan Baker

Her voice

Her voice and those words
sounded in my head
like lines from a too often seen movie,
and caused me to retort,
""I heard you TWICE
the first time!""

By: Virginia Rehberg


Yearling, never fear the change
never suffer, never lose
talk out loud on paper, for now til then
sunder and shake thunder rolls in
I scream: I cry: I laugh: I lie
SHOOT! you prickly prude
Froth hath done no crime
nor death and dishonor
sank down***to the depths of eternity
TALK, TALK, TALK no more/no less
Splash of colorslide of luck
my light=where is your shine
Best friends>>>exchange of lovers
Tick-Tock+++strung along a barbed wire
Shoot me now, or forever hold your PIECE
off the stage, out of sight
clown faces fill the halls
to doom us to another houris to say live
Masked in serenity the heavy hearth
Warm moist dirt falls covering
Cornered eyes float to the surface
sand storms wash away the paint
as you chew the LUMPS my heart is
and yet sunlight graces this face
To shine on=Weebles Wobble

By: Virginia Rehberg

Hypocrisy, domestic charm, ZILCH

Hypocrisy, domestic charm, ZILCH
Thats how much I have saved.
Bells ringturning stomachs in disgust
Forever searching, shifting feet, uncomfortable smiles
How do you keep composed?
Framed in glass, YELLING: never heard
Preached to save mehow absolutely absurd!
I cried on my kneesI laughed with the sun
I gave up my life to love
Crabs, fat with the decay of time
Lifted up by clouds unseen
Observers could not tell
Yet, truth is far behind
Tabloid departure, trust is lost
Pennies are cut from copper
Flesh from bone, Ill go it alone
Water melts the last bits of soap
Foaming down the drain, clean and caressed
Soothe my worries and have my soul
Toil with springs, bounce to and fro
Domestic charm lost and dead
Hypocrisy is my middle name
I love what I hate
All the while, hating hate itself
I shall come to an end.

By: Virginia Rehberg



By: Virginia Rehberg


My parakeet cage is not big enough
The clock is ticking, but minutes are as long as hours
And I find myself sinking to depths that I am not accustom to
Only the empty shower purifies my senses
And only the lifeless room knows my place
Its been years since I remember feeling this way
Back when walking through the front gate
was like stepping into another life.
(an unhappy one)
I now appreciate those feelings of happiness
Its energy and enthusiasm
They are not so easily found
Introverted and submissive-who the hell am I
I am the memory of an eagle hiding in a parakeet
I am unhappysometimes
Existing in these 4 walls which exist within 4 more
Two ends if a broad spectrum
I can be so comfortable
Yet so isolated
And for the first time, I ask
Do you like me?
Unfortunately, I think not more oft than should
Some must wonder why I ventured this far
I most certainly do
I miss simplicity and complication
Conflict is not the problem I have a taste for that
It is unknowing that will be my undoing
And the cycle at every month

By: Virginia Rehberg


A soulful search in nothingness
Leaves my hands stained red.
Shipping sails towards the setting sun,
Taking along my hearts desire
With no hope of closing the hole
that life has left.
I often drift back
To shores of tomorrow
On ideas of yesterday.
But as high tide comes rolling in
I fatefully drown
In moon lit sorrow
Spitting out salty water
Wrought with the distaste of bad memories!

By: Virginia Rehberg


Shady reality has left clouded vision shrouded cold and alone
Pools of shimmering mystery, dripping through the ceiling
My fever boils high through the night
***shifting in turmoil
Scants of tomorrows dust burns my eyes
Realism costs a high price
And pages stained white with serenity reveal undertones of hurt
Bloodied by my fathers hands dirtied by the social soil
Touching mystic ideals in time
The moon shines bright in chasms of DARKNESS
Shattering crystalline images
What face does this innocent child wear?
Incessantly crying behind closed eyes
My heart rains for wounds of the past
My arms let go of the ideas of today
What mask to wear, what mask to where?
Take down the lights and plug your ears.

By: Virginia Rehberg

Thursday, August 21, 2008

Death 12-3-1987

Here's a poem that I wrote a mere 21 years ago. Part I Will Never Love Again but mostly Life Sucks and I Want To Die.
Three things that strike me when I read it again:
1. The poem goes on and on and on.
2. I have no idea who the boy in the poem was.
3. No wonder everyone thought I was going to commit suicide! (For the record, I'm still here.)

Death 12-3-1987

Nowhere to go
Nothing to do
Failing in all efforts
Trying not to give up
Losing all faith
Hating all life
Wanting to go
But needing to live
Longing to hold him
But he's gone
Where can I find him?
Is there an answer somewhere?
Is death an answer?
Will he save me just for an instant?
Just to be with him before I go
Nowhere to run
No one to help me
All alone
No longer coping
This is no longer a temporary problem
The problem will linger forever
I am worthless
No sense of value
No conscience to save me
No heart to love
No soul to lose
No mind to stop me
There is no understanding
But there is no longer anything to understand
All feeling gone
An empty heart
No will to live
No strength to die
Unworthy of love
No one would want me
Needing someone
But unable to find
Have tried too long
Will no longer try
A useless task
Will always be hurt
I am a problem
To all around me
No longer know
Right from wrong
All hard work is for
Feelings kept inside
Waiting to burst
Feeling the wire
Snap within me
Haunted at night
Needing Peace
Peace forever
Needing to leave the hurt and the
Torn inside by emotions of past and present
A pain so deep it aches
I have lost
Have tried to hold on but
Yearned for him but he has
Forgotten me
If he ever remembered
Lost all innocence
Fallen from Grace

By: Cathy Wos


the odds are stacked and
you can't win
your life of pain will now begin
anger and bitterness
hem you in
they say your life is frothed in sin
(but why do they care?)

boredom and irritability
sense or sensibility
what will bring tranquility
what will bring stability
what will bring relief

a theif
from the night
stole your happiness
your efforts are fruitless
your ideals are nonesense
your purpose is vain

you're insane
beat the strain
avoid the mundane
there must be
something to gain
(but not in this world.)

By: Heather Johnson


they scream
piled up against me
in my head
i can't do it
can't see it
or be it
leave me then
if you're true
tired of lies
my demise
self demise
let me die
i'm of no use to you

By: Heather Johnson

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


in this hypochondriatic state
i am insecure but
i leave it to fate
and deter the attention
shoved in my direction
and they won't understand
all I want is affection or love

left in mind-shattering solitude
watch your attitude
young lady and mind
your manners
show your gratitude
stay sane

too many expectations
shoved on me
you go on vacation
I've lost motivation
I've lost life
return to me
i yearn to be free
and alive

By: Heather Johnson


To the friend I left behind,
this poem is for you.
You led yourself into a void;
there's nothing I can do.
While you were sinking deeper,
I was bailing out;
you chose the quick and easy path;
I took the other route.
It's not that I'm neglecting you;
I wish that you could see
I'm not rejecting all that you are;
I'm just protecting me.
I hope someday we'll reunite.
You still hold a piece of my heart;
but I've got too much at stake right now.
It's best we stay apart.

(Sadly, I remember every word of this lovely verse from 1985 by heart. I wanted like hell to change it, but I couldn't perpetrate that kind of dishonesty!)

By: Michele Weitz

Soul Queef (Retched Words)

Words barrel from his lungs.
Step back,
it will shock you.
Any time now...
Grim looks our fate.
Did your soul just queef all over me?

By: Jesse Howard


Weathered my soul has become under this cloud. Not sure what type of cavernous hurt I have. Implied on the binding parts of my life, striking or struck I have become numb to the difference. Leather bounds my expression. Astounding attempts, fragile to one. Lost is needed as the stairs are steep, will the like insisted choose right resenting every plea for broken words. Why do these demons entangle their will. Embarrassed by action & content in not feeling. Their words build me & break me. Friends like poison of the slowest kind. Desperation needs truth. Here I reside hoping not to parish from misinterpreted judgment."

By: Jesse Howard

Found in true Accuracy

in the array of passions,
the clime for security upon well being,
and our questioning beneath
the souls ecstasy,
lingers an aimless goal.
Creating only a longing for something deeper.
The search is conducted on common ground, in which we find true wealth, not material riches but the Self,
in which all fears are conquered
and meaning becomes the answer.

By: Jesse Howard


don't play games with me bitch,
spread your legs and lets get hitched.
you can buy a one way ticket to my dick,
but please, don't hate me because I'm sick!
The truth is your the trick so don't run
and don't hide, stand still and I'll give you a free ride.

By: Jesse Howard


release me from your grasp.
reflect all that is true,
except what comes as new.
with extreme dark
comes brilliant light.
and to you,
I will never give up the fight.
so chase as you may
you wont find me cause,
I'm out to play!

By: Jesse Howard


I glance around our crowded hallways
and see,
Faces desperate for acceptance,
Hearts in search of comfort, at any risk.
Arms seeking arms. Pain seeking strength.
Do we wish for neglect or does it innocently fall into unwilling laps?
There should be a reason why we worship friends as gods.
We date those we shouldn't; those we do not love.
We want what is desired not by us, but by them--other's opinions create our own.
When we joyful, we are sad.
When we are frightened, we are angry.
Are smiles really grimaces?
Are kisses really bites?
Life, engulfed by pain,
I wonder,
Is there any beauty worth seeking out?

By: Leslye Walton

May I Serve You

D*mn hat
F-ing Apron
Standing Behind the Counter trapped..
tick tock
The clock has slowed.
God I want to be free
water bubbles in the well
Gloved hands perched on the Counter..
Tight elastic.clinging to my skin
A customer trickles in
Followed by a herd
False Smile Dullshine eyes
Hello, may I help you
Pest all of you
Yes, can I haveummm
Sold my soul for cheap
What is that?
For a measly buck
Sure I will like
Clinking Plates
I move to serve smiling
Small you are the enemy
You are
Across the Counter
No more.
Joking and jostling
Hey slave, I need
No, you only get
Come on please
Dirty pans to be delivered to the Gods of Dishwater
Water in White Styrofoam cups
High above my head
Juggling Pans..magically transfer the empty with the full
Standing Behind the Counter
I should be on the other side
No need no worry
Sold my soul
F-ing Apron
The hand moved
Almost free
Go rigid in obedience
Pleasant service
Customer is always right
Another customer
Quick service
Barked at by the manager
No horseplay
We scurry like rats
Smug looks with I am glad I am not you shine
I should be on the other side of the Counter
Such a privilege to serve YOU
The clock moves and my shift stops
I pass the spoodle-the torch-, and robotic stance
Removal of the hat and freed of the apron strings
False smile fades into a tired straight line
Dullshine eyes reflect relief and exhaustion
I sold my soul with grim need to pay the bills
Weary shoulders..Numbed feet.Lifeless legs
Clicking off the open sign upon my face
And turning off the automatic recording.
May I serve you in my throat.

By: Amanda Hawk


I am the shadow of the woman
you took and threw away
spit upon my face with such ease
like kisses once enjoyed
stained beyond recognition
from dirt released from tongue
burying me in the grave
you made for me in you minds eyes
I am the one that believed your hollow promises
you kept on file
rolodex my heat between tidbits
of self importance
never to be your love one
just one night stand
as you walk in six in the morning
to pick up the boots as you left through door
of my so-called love

I will become your ghost
slipping under door bedroom office nightlife
fleeting image in the corner of your eye
track you from other side of bar
within mental locked doors
haunt you
remind you of those breathless nights
fogging my eyes to your image
for you was my god
then pedestal bastardized
with bitter truths to crack the glass
with hammer of my tongue
licking out revealing your true nature
making you the shadow the secret the shame
to be hidden at the bottom of graves
deep in my mind
realizing you were nothing to see
or worth the blood held in my heart

By: Amanda Hawk

Just a Simple Figh

You said God put us together
To make me stronger
And you kinder
But I havent gotten stronger,
And you havent gotten nicer.
I only feel weaker and drained.
Struggling to understand each other,
But only clashing in our point of views.

Our shouting sent the walls flying and the neighbors ears
To the floor
For they never came rapping at the door
Rocking to the rhythm of my tears
Choked breaths marked the time
Your capitalized claws found me
Through our words
And raked across my souls flesh
Scarred and maimed, my soul
Is netted together with a fine mesh
Of ink, words, and paper.

You said I need to grow up
and that you werent going to be around forever
And I thought how could I regain my childhood
And wished you would go away
Your words triggered nothing
No love no compassion, and definitely no motivation

Our fights rocked the neighborhood
Sliding the earth out from under their feet
Sending them on their backs
And me to my knees
Just another peaceful day in the neighborhood
Or so we all pretend

You said that I am a nobody and need to get off my ass
Once in a while
Be a part of something and make an attempt to look nice
For others judged on looks and would make fun of me
I thought you were the only one to point them out
That you were never satisfied
You wanted me to be you

Peace is broken and lying on the floor
The walls cracked and the earth shaken
Me hiding in my room and you lurking downstairs
Blaring the TV and I hiding within my music
The banging juts my attention sending me to the hallway
We retract our scathing words
But the electric tension crackles in the air
The neighbors kept their ears to the floor
For they never came rapping at the door
Peace is broken and lying on the floor

By: Amanda Hawk



The wind whips at the hollows of my mind,
and I cannot react in time,
to save myself,
or my soul,
to breathe the breath as black as coal.
No others will know
of my torture.
Only me in thine eyes
The death of one who tries,
when there's so many missing things.
There are so many missing things."

By: Heidi Houser

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

a bottle of black clouds

a bottle of black clouds
to release it is to conform
so sip it from the side
for all you want is near.

the words of a wild woman
they vent through a caustic crematorium
a gas chamber for your enjoyment
it moves inside of your veins, deep

make it mine, all mine.
all mine

By: Jordan Baker



I've still got Bud on my mind.
It's hard being a young girl in love.
I wish it wasn't this way.
I want him to be the one.
I want him to dance with me.
Dance close and dance slow.
I want him to hold me tight.
I know I'll be safe.
I only wish.
If it were true, I'd be soaring like an eagle.

December 8, 1984


By: Christina Peressini



It started out in 1977, god dropped you a little gift from heaven

Two parents struggling to do the best they can, giving it all to the child they had

Love kept them together through the years, always caring for me and wiping my tears

I miss the closeness we once had, when I think about it- it makes me feel so bad
I used to be able to tell you everything, keeping no secrets and having no shame
Where is the loving father I once knew? I wish I could say my love for you has only grew...

But you make me angry and pissed off, and I want out-

That's why I am leaving here for good with out a doubt

I hope you enjoy your new life here without me, all quiet and stress free
Just remember the choices you made, you brought
me to this, the path has been paved
I'll be out of here by dawn- I hope you'll miss me when I am gone........

*I wrote and left this for my parents before I hitch hiked (via truckers) with 2 girlfriends from Eugene OR to San Francisco CA to live a more glamourous life..."

By: Disree Hewitson

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Facebook Group

Are you on Crackbook?
Go to the group "Teen Angst is Funny" to join the group for all your Teen Angst needs.

Check out the photos people have uploaded- classic angst!

Teen Angst: The Best of the Worst

We have been waiting years to do this show. Since I performed BAD GRAD at the High Performance Rodeo I have wanted to do this: a Teen Angst show with a retro dance party

I cannot wait!

The poster is soon to come but for now check out this info:

Teen Angst: The Best of the Worst
Comedy Show and Retro Dance Party

Saturday September 6, 2008
At the Cambrian Hall - 215 East 17th- just East of Main Street
Doors: 7pm Show: 8pm Dance Party: 10pm
Tickets: $15 at the door e-mail to reserve

Act 1: The Best of Teen Angst (readings from my favorite Teen Angsters)
Act 2: Fuck Off and Die: Tales in Teen Angst Poetry (Sara Bynoe's Teen Angst solo show straight from Bumbershoot)
Act 3: 80s/ 90s Retro Dance Party* with DJ Cheeky Disco
*costumes are encouraged.

Produced by and Sarah Morgan Events
Info at and

Thursday, July 10, 2008

PHOTOS from July's Teen Angst Sizzler

July's Teen Angst was the best one yet! Too bad I didn't get video of myself reading my losing my virginity story. I will never share that again- it was too embarrassing!

Congrats to all our wonderful readers you all rocked the house! So very funny! I'm so proud of you all!

Next show Aug 12- Theme: Trouble- read your stories of when you got into trouble as a teen.


Check out this new promo video for Teen Angst nights!

Thursday, July 3, 2008


Tuesday, July 8, 2008
7:00pm - 9:00pm
The Railway Club
579 Dunsmuir Street
Vancouver, BC

At the July edition of Teen Angst we encourage our readers to bring out their 'sexiest stories' tales of first kisses, first times and awkward hormonal moments.

It's going to be an awkward and hot July... we hope.

If you want to read e-mail teenangstpoet(at) to get on the list or show up at the Railway at 6:30 to sign up.

Teen Angst is an open mic comedic reading series where everyday people read from their embarrassing old journals, poems, songs, essays (and more), in front of an audience.

Part stand-up comedy, part poetry reading, part karaoke (in the way you go to watch people embarrass themselves). Similar shows are popping up all over North America, come and the one that’s been going strong since 2000! (That’s like 6 years of angst- you could go through high school twice again!)

Latitude Festival 2008 :: News

Teen Angst at Latitude Festival July 18, 19, 20 Suffolk UK

Get digging through your old notebooks UK!

Bumbershoot 2008 | Fresh News: Teen Angst Poetry Contest!


Teen Angst Poetry Contest!

In the spirit of Sara Bynoe’s F**k Off & Die: Tales in Teen Angst Poetry, we turn to BumberFans for their most heartfelt teenaged writings. It might be your worst fear to let your teenage self see the light of day again after all these years, but let go of your shame and you could score a pair of Gold Passes! But of course that’d mean Sara would read your scary teen poetry to a live audience at Bumbershoot, so that’s a risk you’ll have to weigh… Get all the deets at here.

"Fuck Off and Die: Tales in Teen Angst Poetry" will be performed on Aug 30 at Bumbershoot. Yeeeeah!


TEEN ANGST: A Celebration of Inadvertently Hilarious Adolescent Writing

July 8, 7:30- 9pm sharp! $7 at the door or free if you bring something to read.

At the Railway Club, 579 Dunsmuir Street Vancouver

Teen Angst occurs on the second Tuesday of every month. Upcoming shows: July 8, Aug 13, Sept 9 etc.


At the July edition of Teen Angst we encourage our readers to bring out their 'sexiest stories' tales of first kisses, first times and awkward hormonal moments.

E-mail teenangstpoet(at) to sign up. There are a few spots left!


Sara Bynoe (Teen Angst Queen) will be featured at the Slam at Cafe Deux Soliel at 2096 Commercial Drive.

LATITUDE FESTIVAL- Henham Park in Southwold, Suffolk UK - July 18, 19, 20

People of the UK bring out your old teen writing and share with me on the poetry stage at this amazing festival!

Music Acts include: Sigur Ros, Interpol, Franz Ferdinand, Death Cab for Cutie, Crystal Castles, M.I.A. and more.

BUMBERSHOOT- Seattle, WA - Aug 30

Since 1971, Bumbershoot has drawn artists representing the best in music, film, comedy, spoken word, dance, theatre, performance, and visual arts to the Seattle Center over Labor Day weekend.

Sara will be performing her solo show “Fuck Off and Die: Tales in Teen Angst Poetry” in the 300 seat theatre. Some of the other artist’s performing at this year’s Bumbershoot are: Beck, Adele, Saul Williams, Anti-Flag, and so much more!

Sunday, June 22, 2008

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) Teen Angst love or/ more than like/ 'first time' stories are strongly encouraged!

Monday, May 26, 2008


Teens going from bad to verse
Times Colonist
Published: Thursday, May 15, 2008


(May 24, 10 p.m., Intrepid Theatre Club, 1609 Blanshard St.)

Eight years ago, Vancouver's Sara Bynoe unearthed her old boyfriend's teenage love poems. These maudlin masterpieces were hilarious. So she phoned a girlfriend to enjoy a mutual guffaw.

That nasty yukfest was the seed for Teen Angst Poetry Night. For this performance, 27-year-old Bynoe reads her self-penned teen poems, then invites audience members to read their own horrific teen musings (e-mail her at to sign up).

Bynoe's interest in teen writing spun off into a successful website in which people worldwide post their poems. She wrote a 2005 book, Teen Angst: A Celebration of Really Bad Poetry, and hosts a monthly open-mike night at Vancouver's Railway Club for those who relish bad teen prose.

The floodgates of Bynoe's own pubescent scribbling opened in Grade 8, when her boyfriend James (a Mormon who'd "fake-drink" beers) dumped her after a month. This prompted a steady stream that resulted in 400 poems and a journal she kept from age 15 to 20.

One of her James-inspired poems goes: "You thought wrong/You thought I would cry/You thought I would die/But it was me that said goodbye."

For adults -- aside from the humour -- the appeal of such writings is a feeling of catharsis in realizing others suffered as teens, Bynoe says. Just as we did.


Teen Angst: A Celebration of Inadvertently Hilarious Adolescent Writing
At The Railway Club,
579 Dunsmuir Street,

Doors at 7pm show at 7:30- 9pm (sharp! We run on time because that's all the time we have at the venue)
$7 at the door.

This is a recurring monthly show on the second Tuesday of every month (June 10, July 8 etc.). If you'd like to read e-mail

Note to readers, due to our limited time at the Railway club please keep readings under 10 min. You can read anything from poems to diary entries, to singing old songs, reading plays, letters, essays- ANYTHING! so long as it adheres to the following rules.

1- The work must be your own.

2- You must have written it between the ages of 10-19.

3- You must be over your old angst.

4- It is recommended that if you read it and 'cringe' it's worth sharing.

Check out for Sara's examples

Teen Angst is co-produced by Sarah Morgan Events and

Saturday, May 10, 2008

Teen Angst: May 13

Teen Angst: May 13
The Railway Club
579 Dunsmuir Street, Vancouver
$7 at the door
Free if you read: e-mail teenangstpoet(at)

A Mask

A Mask

By: Karl

A mask

A mask

A mask that I wear everyday

A talking mask

A breathing mask

A smiling mask

A mask that I’ve sculpted



And loved

You’ve served me well…

In times of troubles

And in times of pain

You’ve been there for me

But now I know

I should leave you

But will I survive

Or just go downhill

I’ll never know

Until I remove

My Mask

Sunday, April 13, 2008


Nathaniel- "Marshmallow horses" = pure poetry.

She's over it.

German teen angst.

Rosie-Reading Teen Angst to laugh with her daughter.

Maddie- Life was tough on the streets of North Van.

Shows and Catch Up

Photo: Girls with "I'm over it" T-shirts rocking March 11's Teen Angst night.

Teen Angst: A Celebration of Inadvertently Hilarious Adolescent Writing has had it's first two shows at the Railway in Vancouver and they were a success! Well, we thought so and so did all the people who packed the Railway.

I must apologize for not being more attentive to this blog. I've been busy. That's my excuse and you're just going to have to deal with it.

Please keep sending in your old poems you wrote when you were a teenager. Reminder: this site is intended to be satirical in nature and if you are a teenager it is not an appropriate place to submit your poems to.

Next show: May 13. E-mail me if you want to read, spots fill up in advance.

Media Attention
Lit : 'Teen Angst' celebrates the accidently hilarious
By Deanne Beattie

The first Teen Angst show takes place at the Railway Club this Tuesday, March 11 at 7:00 p.m. If you wish to participate, contact the event coordinators at, or bring your work to the event for a spontaneous performance.

Okay, this is brilliant. The event is “Teen Angst: A Celebration of Inadvertently Hilarious Adolescent Writing,” a sort-of talent show for self-respecting adults that choose to share the scripts, poetry, songs, and stories that they wrote as teenagers for friends and complete strangers — for the sheer hilarity of it. I sat down with event creators Sara Bynoe and Sarah Morgan for a better idea of what Teen Angst is about, now that it’s a monthly event at the Railway Club, an online community, and a theme that has been taken up on stages and in writing collections across the country.

The Peak: Where did the idea for Teen Angst come from?

Sara Bynoe: When I was 20, I was on the phone with a friend and I came across a binder full of poetry that my high school boyfriend wrote for me. I was mean, and shared it with her, and we laughed like mean, horrible girls. I thought, “Okay, wait, the karma’s going to get me — let me grab my poetry books,” because I wrote a lot, like over 400 poems as a teenager. I shared those and we laughed at those, and realized that was much funnier, so I began doing Teen Angst night in Calgary. Those were moreso focused on poetry, because that’s what I wrote. I moved out [to Vancouver], it kept on evolving, and then Sarah and I got in touch.

Sarah Morgan: I actually heard of this night called Salon of Shame, which is a night down in Seattle, through a friend. He told me how funny it was and how I had to see it, so I did, and I asked [the promoters] if it would be okay if I started a night like this in Vancouver. They suggested I talk to Sara, who had been doing this for a while, so we got in touch. This will be the first one we’re co-producing together, in March.

P: Now tell me, why are you encouraging respectable adults to unearth their angsty writing?

SB: Because it’s funny! Because it’s fun, it’s cathartic, and it’s one of those things [where] people cringe and think, “Oh God, I would never do that!” but when you come to these events . . . you get inspired, because people are up on stage and sharing these ridiculous things they wrote, putting their heart on a platter. Yet you laugh with them and at them, and understand that the feelings are so universal. You see all the love that they are getting, and you say, “I want to do that too, because this is awesome.”

SM: Everyone was a teenager once — everyone wrote ridiculous things.

SB: And if you kept it . . . you’ve kept it for a reason, and the reason is this night.

P: Teen Angst is now on the web, in print, and on the stage. Why do you think it has become so popular across North America?

SB: Because I just won’t stop [laughs]. It’s been fun, it’s been infectious. There are other nights, like Salon of Shame, that weren’t inspired by me but through others [doing similar events]. I started the website and it became hugely popular. We were on Metafilter once and we got like a million hits — our server crashed. It’s sort of that people want to go through dirty little secrets . . . you’re getting that window into someone else’s life, because these feelings of “I’m alone, no one understands my pain, life sucks, I will never love again” are so universal no matter what age you are.

SM: Yeah, I think that’s why it does so well across the board: because everybody was a teenager once, everybody’s gone through some sort of situation that they can hopefully look back on and laugh at, or [they] realize that other people have shared the same feelings once.

SB: I think that when you were a teenager, you also thought that these thoughts and feelings or whatever you were writing were so important at the time, and there’s a part of you that kind of wants to validate it. I know that when I was writing my stuff, I was thinking, “I’m going to save this. This is going to be important.” And I didn’t realize that I was just going to use it to make fun of myself years later — but it did serve its purpose. It has entertained me a lot, and given me a lot of stage time.

Tuesday, February 5, 2008

Tales in Teen Angst Poetry in Vancouver (well just outside)

Feb. 16, 8 pm-

Tales in Teen Angst Poetry -Sara Bynoe's Teen Angst standup/ poetry show.

At The Tsawwassen Arts Centre

1172 56th St, Delta, BC

Tickets at the door: $10-12.

I hope you can make it out to the'burbs to see it.

Part stand-up comedy, part performance poetry, part theatre- all Sara Bynoe!

You'll leave this show wishing you never threw out/ burned your old journals and singing the tune of "Fuck off and die."

Expect the show to be a medley of mortification; poems of rhyming swears, classic teen ravings like ‘no one understands my pain’ and ‘I will never love again,’ a heart-bleeding song inspired by break-ups and an ode or two to Kurt Cobain. Part stand-up comedy, part poetry reading, and part verbatim theatre, Fuck off and Die is a heartfelt yet hilarious valentine for every lonely, angry and misunderstood teenager that ever lived because the truth is everyone understands your pain. Especially Sara.

Directed by AJ Demers (host of The Spin on City TV Calgary and a Loose Moose alumni), Sara Bynoe will have you leaving this show wishing you never threw out/ burned your old journals (or really thankful that you did).

Next Show

FINALLY! The show is back up!!!

March 11- Teen Angst: A Celebration of Inadvertently Hilarious Adolescent Writing, at The Railway Club, 579 Dunsmuir Street, doors at 7pm show at 7:30 sharp- 9pm.

This will be a recurring monthly show on the second Tuesday of every month (March 11, April 15, etc.). If you'd like to read e-mail

Note to readers, due to our limited

time at the Railway club please keep readings under 10 min. You can read anything from poems to diary entries, to singing old songs, reading plays, letters, essays- ANYTHING! so long as it adheres to the following rules.

1- The work must be your own.

2- You must have written it between the ages of 10-19.

3- You must be over your old angst.

4- It is recommended that if you read it and 'cringe' it's worth sharing.

Check out for Sara's examples.

Monday, January 28, 2008


Love, acceptance


Can’t be myself

Want to be the best

Everything my neighbor wants

Considering the consequences before my actions

My actions? Or your desires?

Avoiding negative reactions

Be anyone else that fits the descriptions

Not me, not myself, not for me, not for myself

“Egoist”; the password to my self-hate, the key

How easy it is to mold me

Circle but I fit into triangle, square

Acting, show, denial

Running away from the person I can’t accept: Me

Boy? Girl? Friend, lover, enemy?

Do I want the best of others for myself?

Ignorance, blindness

I’ve built myself to become what? Me? Or a robot ruled by anyone else’s feelings

Anyone who could love me, accept me.

By: Maria

Category: other


Silent but

I can still hear you

Your voice.

Cold but

I can still feel you

Your touch.

Bland but

I can still taste you

Your flavor.

Neutral but

I can still smell you

Your fragrance.

Empty but

You are still with me

Your presence.

By: Maria

Category: other



You’re out of my life,

And all I can do is watch the minutes, hours, days go by

Without you

I think of all the things I could, should, would have said

Now I can’t speak because of my tears being shed

Not here

We wanted to be together till we die

And we were never given the chance to say goodbye

Not together

I think of what could have been

And if you ever think about me.

By: Maria

Category: other

Wednesday, January 9, 2008

Salon of Shame- Part 1

Salon of Shame - Part 2

i'm afraid to say this because of how you would react

tiny. you shrunk
me so i was tiny. you and the role you play (and it would
be so fun to be your therapist).
how can you not feel anything?
fuck, [name_deleted], i loved you.
remember talking on the phone?
the vagina monologues?
your infatuation with girls and me always trying to help?
i was there for you
at least i tried
could you have said anything like that the night
before i left
you, [name_deleted], were one of my best things.
GODDAMN IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
You're "moving on?" and i was forced to move on and you would
probably have wanted me to leave alwayz.
fuck. i got angry. though i don't know what at. your unwillingness to get close to pain? your part of you that pushes back emotions and

"FUCK YOU!" -- 2003 -- I remember sitting in early morning Russian class and instead of writing a sappy love poem, really allowing myself to be angry. I never finished the poem because I thought it was too angry and I should always be nice to [name_deleted], no matter what.

By: Theadora

More Untitled Pieced by Theadora

pretty h
shoveled out the house
fringe of worms
stomach doubled up
what is a shoat?
all played
stumping out the door
like the back of his hand

"pointless rambling poems" -- truly a WTF. a month later it was a wTF. 2003.

they write about
finding pleasure through pain
after I cut
pink, open wounds
I went in the shower
and got down with myself
feeling the cuts burn
with the water
and the vibrations
Almost cried
I'm gone
you're home
not happy

"I am Alone and No One Understands My Pain" -- 2003 -- Two days after we moved to a new state.

at your
dark empty
lost in myself
so deep no one can catch me
and that's when people get afraid
at your
surrounded by nothing
surrounded by...
lashes made thick
apparently I have
nice skin and nice eyes
"I started with my feet
and worked up"

--2003, before we moved.

is it a crime?
one may wonder
to be out
on the front lawn
when it's about to rain?
and you know what you
be doing
is staying inside to help unpack
I ponder that question
when thinking of persons
that I left behind
Can I gain anything
from sitting here remembering the
night we held each other
tight enough to make me
(and I hope you)
I tremble now
in the rain and the cold
wanting to run back
to your fire
"It's cold outside and I have no raincoat," I stutter.
Will you let me in?
or, because you think I'm better off gone
(which I am, actually)
would you even remember me at all
even if I'd say --
"I'm the one who turned to you first
making a frantic phone call over Thanksgiving
--Help. I think I'm gay. What do I do?
taken aback by your surprise
but whatever your response
I chose you first
trusted you enough,
my friend
I listened to you.
to YOU.
Not some fake put-on-for-performance
made-up face
wallowing in whether that crowd finds you funny.
I wanted something deeper.

--2003--"I am Alone and No One Understands My Pain" -- The correct words coming out of my mouth are as follows: She say it's cold outside and she hands me my raincoat She's always worried about things like that. Thank you, Matchbox 20.

the stars
with their fiery lights and passion,
play cascading melodies on
blacks and whites
scribbling on paper sticky with everything wrong
and for a minute there is freedom.
but lights are destined to go out,
and for every paradise gained there is a paradise Lost
with vast emptiness and longing.
the compass, stone or golden, will lead to the stars -- for
somewhere in that broken emptiness is light again -- stored
for the one who seeks it.
I just wish I didn't have to go alone.

"Obvious Metaphors" -- 2002 -- another Paradise Lost/His Dark Materials inspired poem. I remember being told to keep a journal and 'let it out', hence this poem.

By: Theadora

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
your fingers are smooth
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?

By: Theadora

When I "Thick Love" You

so precious
those moments
we were together
in the dark
I held you forever
and you took my hand
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
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
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

Solstice Prayer

Thirteen candles/phases of the moon/
praise the Goddess
"light one candle"
one by one, we went up
"this is a candle for all the women who have ever been here"
"for the young feminists, picking up the torch"
"for poverty"
"for discrimination"
"for someone to replace Bush in the next election"
i went up
in this circle of love and strength, i lit a candle
"for all the victims of sexual assault, spoken and unspoken"
the women beckoned me back later --
"did you see? did you see?"
my candle
half burned/dripping/short among tall/flames/fire with anguish
in a circle of thirteen, mine
like a sign a scar
stood out pleading crying
whispered no, shouted, "this too shall pass"
phases of the moon/o matriarch/help/peace -- 2003

By: Theadora

I Talk About Sticking My Fingers Down There But There's No Fucking

I looked at my vagina today. Tchaikovsky playing in the background, looking out, IN to this mass of tissue. I've never done that before.
Parents were gone. I put on music that described me, so I put on Tchaikovsky. I looked at my
vagina today. I didn't expect it to be oh so red. Oh, I was in.
I'm not sure if I found my clit or not.
But I remember that I usually hate staring myself down in mirrors -- so much fat, but my pussy...
now that was interesting.
it was quick, but sweet.
Listened to that concerto
while doing my
I had the perfect mirror.
Oh God! Oh!
Wymyn, I looked at my vagina today
I saw myself

"Other???" "More than like???" "White middle class hippie feminist oppression?" -- DEAR LORD! The last thing I would want anyone to say to be after sex is, "now that was interesting." Interesting to note that during this time I was the skinniest I have been in my short life, so I don't know where all the fat I was bitchin' about came from. "Oh God! Oh!" should be, well, I don't know. (2003)

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

My Body

My Body
is what I haven't been able
to fit in to
That dress, those jeans.
I'm "too curvy"
for these people.
A part of me wants to
ask him:
am I too fat?
too feminist?
is there too much dyke
in me for a guy like you?
you moved on. i moved locations.
Once you told me your secrets --
never the same.
I want to go home and just burn my mirrors
because the patriarchal society is getting
me down again. It's just the typical female thing.

"white middle class hippie feminist oppression" "i am alone and no one understands my pain" -- 2003 This was written about someone who was supposed to be only a friend and I know at the time I meant it in a completely platonic manner. Needless to say, the poem caused a bit of confusion.

By: Theadora

Ode to Walt Whitman

I sit in the bath reading "Children of Adam" again
sometimes you make me uneasy, O Walt.
Your sweeping love as a man -- not all have the
privilege to love as you do.

I sit in the bath reading "Children of Adam" again
been collecting grass on all our hikes -- invoking
that Whitman spirit. natural high.
I'm careful that the book doesn't get wet, which is silly of me
coz Romantics are meant to get dirty.

In class -- when they ask
about why Whitman pulls my
heart strings, I couldn't tell a story about
sex/gender/nature/nurture/women/man/another altogether/fluidity
To love and not be labeled. To exist and not be labeled.
To be an expression of natural gender and sexuality.

By: Theadora

The Bath Poem

I'm shining now. On the bus.
Hearing her voice. Imagining
a genderless lover.
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.

"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

My Womanifesto

my cunt is for me
i'll wear my sexual assault awareness ribbon
keep track of my Plathian tendencies
be sexy
and unafraid
my womanness
will shine
my lesbianism will go unafraid
i am loved
bashing the shitheads
day by day
who am i?
yes, oh yes.

"White Middle Class Hippie Feminist Oppression," "Fuck You"

By: Theadora


A blank canvas
my short-sleeved pretty blouse
looks horrible because
of cuts on my arms

People in my class
describing cutting on MTV.

By: Theadora


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


drums bongo
from a shady section
of Liberty Park on Sunday
(the hippies had been holding
gatherings there on the beginning
of the week for at least thirty years).
It was the drums -- not the hippies -- they are an added bonus
that drew me to the place.

take me to a scene of
intertwining bodies/hemp/pot
a free-for-all dance
however one may move
women connect kiss on blankets
I watch parents put flowers in their daughter's
We are either energized, spiritualized, or just high
as the punks as me for a smoke
I realize how much I'm skipping
ready to ripple inside
could be quite an illusion
under squinting sun
how much of this is free?

"Other," -- ah, the allure of the bongo. true rebellion.

By: Theadora

Monday, January 7, 2008

My Drag

My Drag

Lorraine and lesbianism grew out of me. Somewhere there was a deep connection to womanhood, to professional attire, makeup. Am I genderfucking? Lorraine, the woman inside me, exists because notions exist. She is my excuse for pretending. She may as well be the false nose ring, the provoking question, the Catholic worker, the wymyn-loving-wymyn-loving-birkenstocks, and the tube of lipstick. Is she real? I can't tell the difference anymore.

"I am alone and no one understands my pain" -- I seriously felt that any time I asserted my womanhood, I was faking. It was my drag. Yet it was my community (as evidenced by the earlier poems).

By: Theodora

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

I Have A Lot To Say (But I Can't Say It)

I Have A Lot To Say (But I Can't Say It)
pretend to be an adult
who has a curfew
listening to Tori Amos'
"Strange Little Girls"
Ah, I'm in love.
"yes, I know what
you think of me
you never shut up."

"Ode Poems" -- I was really into Tori Amos.

By: Theodora

I can see Sitting Bull

Que Hora Es?
time for land
use and imperialism
I can see Sitting Bull
over there --
shadow puppet mechanics --
are two independent clauses
(represented by a tape dispenser
and stapler)
that cannot be spliced by a comma
or stuck together
"the car is always a comforting place for
unless i'm pissed" (says a student next to me)
there's nothin' wrong with that sentence, people! there's nothin'
wrong with Sitting Bull!
only a wimpy comma

"Pointless Rambling Poems," "other" -- "found poem" of Junior year English class

By: Theodora

Please Don't Turn Valve

Please Don't Turn Valve
i hoped to pull it off/
speaking to the rock
it didn't go so well, me & the/stone
on the ground with a luggage/tag
"please don't turn valve
pipes leak."
in black marker/gold thread
i thought, how appropriate
since a rock can be pushed
don't want to sit cold-faced nor be
chased off a cliff by a boulder.

"Obvious Metaphors," "Other" "White Middle Class Feminist Hippie Oppression"

By: Theodora


imprint in the grass
Michelob light smooth draft
whoever dropped
the glass bottle must have
a need for lean golden
woman in pink talking on her cell phone
in a white car
slender petals peer
with black center

"Pointless Rambling Poems -- I really thought addiction and alcoholism was the coolest, most romantic thing in the world. Hence all my poems about 'hitting the bottle' when I led a very squeaky clean lifestyle. We're back to 2004.

By: Theodora


teapot is plastic pink
feminitea steeping
raspberries with rough warrior

lid is closed
my lid is closed
translucent drinking abuzz
with herb closed soon
it will be bus-catching time
but i spent a doll-
ar eighty-eight on
magenta calmness.
i can sit for a while.

handle skinny -- half a heart?
cuts through the opening
i look through the shape
browser's is outlined in bright
outlined my eyes
pink tea hearts
as a group of three women
my sisters
cross the street in the rain

By: Theodora


we eyed the box/homosexuality
and its genetic/origins
want some jujubes?/
don't let gender frame you in/let's shred
cardboard and the binary on the floor/
look, you're already defying roles women
aren't supposed to break stuff up
and i know i am
a man so am i supposed to break stuff up?
society gone with each candy eaten and
every box top lost

"I am alone and no One Understands My Pain" "obvious metaphor poems" -- o.k., this is where I start writing about transgender stuff. in 2005. really, I was at a concert and I stole someone's jujubes and we started shredding the box. that's where all the best imagery comes from, right?

By: Theodora