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

I Don’t Like You Anymore

I wrote this way back in the day when I was a sophomore in High School. Stumbling across your website, I figured it would be fun to give it a go at "getting it published". (If you must know, I wrote it as a "break-up poem"; yes, I took myself that seriously!)

I Don’t Like You Anymore:

I had a dream yesterday.
Well, I mean, last night…
But you understand okay?
It happened just after our fight.
The one where you were wrong,
And I was right.

I was dreaming that you were dying.
And, no, I wasn’t crying.
I had pushed you into this giant blender.
You got all messed up, like in that fender-bender. (Remember?)

Then your relatives came over to celebrate…
I felt close to them for the first time ever – fate?

I can now go on with my life.
Over with all this strife.
…But I’m still talking to you.
Even though you’ve been turned into something… for the dogs to chew.

By: Anon.


I can't escape from this place,
All I see is your face,
You left me in the rain,
Alone and insane.

My insides writhe like a tempestuous sea,
I am drowning in what was once you and me.
How can this reality be?

I can't look at myself,
I store my tear drops on a shelf.
They've gathered dust,
And my heart has begun to rust.

Leave me to be,
On the tempestuous sea.
Because you will never see,
We were meant to be.

By: Shannon

The Saddest Story

I know of a story
that would take all smiles away

I Could Tell The Saddest Story
and just break hearts with what i have to say

I Have The Saddest Story
of the man whose love wouldn't stay

I Could Tell Our Story
That ended last may

This is the saddest story
That no man would trade

The Saddest Story,
look at what we have made.

written by Dakota Dunn age 18

Friday, March 27, 2009

All Apologies

My dear fans, I must apologize to you. I have been a bad blogger. I have neglected this site and for that I am sorry. began nearly 9 years ago in the winter of 2000, back before many of us even knew what a blog was. The site had its heyday in the early 00s and was meta blogged all over the interweb, this coincided with live comedy shows and both resulted in the publication of the anthology Teen Angst: A Celebration of REALLY BAD Poetry. Then there were tours, live theatre shows and even my solo show. It's been a wonderful journey, to be sure.

Sadly though, sometime in 2006 (or 2007) the original computer which was created on - some ancient Linux box system in the basement of my parents house- died and it took hundreds of glorious Teen Angst Poetry to its grave. Since no one could remember the original code the site had been created on (yes this was very pre-blog sites) I attempted to reinvent the site on blogger. I have since become more active in acting and writing which left this baby neglected. Nowadays archival sites like this are a dime-a-dozen and I have simply fallen behind the times, without the finances to make this site as fancy-dancy as it originally was.

As I am currently in the midst of completing a Masters Degree I am not able to post as often as I'd like to, but please keep e-mailing your Teen Angst Poems to teenangstpoet(at) and I will get to them as often as I can.

I hope that you will continue to enjoy the Teen Angst Poetry on this site. I believe it is a wonderful reflection of our dramatic adolescent emotions and something we can all learn from. Please keep laughing at yourself and especially your hilarious teenage creations. If you are a teenager I know you may just relate to the poems you'll find here and hopefully find comfort in the fact that someone else does understand your pain.


Sara Bynoe

Teen Angst the show can been seen in Vancouver and London. Check out for full info.


Teen Angst "the show" has now officially separated from For all show information please check out will still continue to be the worlds first online database of teen angst poetry circa 2000. Please continue to send in your poetry and it will be updated as soon as possible.

Now on with the show info:


Monday, MAY 4, 2009
What: As part of the new Monday show The Book Club Boutique
Where: At ‘Dick’s Bar’- The Green Fingernail,
Address: 23 Romilly Street, Soho, London
When: 7-8.30 pm
How Much: Free Entry!

Get digging through your old journals and see me on stage for some international TEEN ANGST! Email sarabynoe(at) if you’ve got something to share!

TEEN ANGST is still running in VANCOUVER, BC, CANADA

The Second Tuesday of EVERY Month!

Hosted by Jane Stanton
Where: The Railway Club, 579 Dunsmuir Street Vancouver MAP
When: The Second Tuesday of Every Month
Dates: MARCH 10, APRIL 14, MAY 12, JUNE 9, JULY 14 etc.
Time: Show is from 6:30- 8:30 pm sharp!
Tickets: $7 at the door or FREE if you bring something to read- come early and check in the door and with host Jane Stanton to book your spot or email sarabynoe(at) to reserve your spot.

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"


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,
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

Not you, not it
Just me
Alone again
This time for ever

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.

Untilted Political 15 year old

I've got a poem I found that I wrote when I was 15. I guess you'd be able to put it under the "Political Action" category:

Where's your leader?
Where's your martyr?
Where's your savior great?

All made to fool,
To pursue,
To be used as a bait.

What do you owe?
For whom do you work?
Whose gilded feet do you kiss?

The sweat on you brow
Is the heavy reminder
Of the life you lost and, surely, will miss.

To your front,
To your back,
To your right and your left.

Nowhere to run,
Nowhere to hide,
So you give in to your death.

You cover your ears,
You blindfold your eyes,
You don't let anything get in nor out.

You zip up your mouth
And you stifle your heart.
Don't even know what your work is about.

But you don't have to back off.
You don't have to give in.
It's your life don't put a price on it.

So that
Maybe the next generation
Will be a true diverse nation,
No box in which they'll have to fit.

By: Ester


No one understands me
everything I say or do is twisted and confused
everything is pointless

My life is a ruin.
My life is a prison.
My life is full of disappointment.

No one likes me
they all pretend
they all are fake

My life is a ruin.
My life is a prison.
My life is an endless pit of disappointment.
I am sick
of this whole world
of the constant struggle to please others

My life is a ruin.
My life is a prison.

My life is overflowing with disappointment.
I can’t wait
to finally be free
to finally be alive

My life is a ruin.
My life is a prison.
My life is over.

By: Margret Hoover


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

"Playing doesn't = Barbies and Toy Cars

“Go see what he wants for lunch tomorrow” that’s what I remember grandma saying

He would tell me and ask me to come back upstairs, “Grandma won’t mind if I play with you for a little, you are my girlfriends’ niece after all”

I run down the stairs like a good little 5 year old girl and tell Grandma that I’m playing with uncle Fabian for awhile,

“Okay have fun, I’m taking a nap”, she responds

So I run back up stairs and I wonder if he knew she would go to sleep and he would be safe…

Now that I think about it, he wasn’t lying when he said he wanted to play with me but I thought Barbie’s and toy cars not rape.

Everyday Monday through Friday after school for a year and half we “played” while Grandma napped.

No one knew because the punishment would be worse then “playing”.

He called it a magic trick as he finished on my stomach.

Tears falling down my cheeks as I tell this to you,

Can you understand the pain when you didn’t even notice when I said Grandmas’ wasn’t fun anymore?

No you will never understand, yet you turn off the TV when I walk in the room, for you think it hurts for me to watch “To Catch A Predator”

Well it doesn’t for I went through it and those girls didn’t.

They are the lucky ones not me.

You say I’m lucky because it could have been much worse, he could have killed me, or if I was older got me pregnant.

Yes I’m oh so lucky because I was only fucking 5 years old, oh so lucky to be growing up and learning oh so soon that life can be unfair to the young and innocent.

I was 5 and learned the hard way, yet you say I’m lucky.

Was I lucky when I was 17 and it happened again because I told “my close friend” no and he wouldn’t take no for an answer?

No I wasn’t lucky for I may still be alive but part of me has died inside, my trust!

In you and in everyone!

By: Keirsten D.


I walk into school,
you stare as I pass,
you single me out,
to the back of the class,

silently judging,
your stares tell your thoughts,
the odd little snigger,
my head, it distorts,

I know that I’m "different",
but is that so wrong?
I don’t follow the crowd,
I sing my own song,

I’m not like you,
I’m not a clone,
I am unique,
I am alone

By: Beth

Now you see me

I was hidden in front of you.
I stood there but you did not see me.
I waited.
I stood still.
You looked past me.
I just wanted you to see me.
Unable to move, to speak,
I start to bleed.
Pale in death,
Now you see me.

by Aaron