Confessions of a teenaged poet

I’ve decided to organize my home office and part of that is to get rid of a box that I’ve been carting around since I first started moving: The Box Of High School Poetry.

I wrote reams and reams of terrible poems through high school and college, but rather than just burn the box, I’ve decided to post a poem a day on a sub-blog until the box is empty.

Enjoy: Confessions of a teenage poet

Actually, most of the poetry is morbid and the usual, no one thinks or feels as deeply as I do, and we are dealing with the usual categories of poems:

  • no one is as smart as me
  • no one feels as deeply as I do
  • why can’t anyone else see the looming disaster if we don’t treat each other better

and

  • we’re all doomed.

7 thoughts on “Confessions of a teenaged poet

  1. When I started reading I was afraid you would proceed to tell you decided to burn it all… i am much happier with what you really decided to do, and with the amused but also curious attitude you have now towards what you have been earlier in this lifetime! Great!
    Your categories are so funny too, I start really loving to read your posts!!! All the more because of this gorgeous rainbow across the sky of your blog, , so beautifully welcoming, instead of those previous pictures all in red and black that I must confess made me cringe every time… Truly, it must be so much nicer now also for yourself to be with you!… :-)

    • The photo was taken on a trip across Canada, I don’t remember if it was in Manitoba or Alberta – and I am really glad that it was back in the film camera days, digital just doesn’t really capture what light sensitive film can.

      I was quiet desperate after i started this blog, because I could only find a handful of poems and I couldn’t imagine that I had gotten rid of the box.

      But, luckily, I am obsessive about backing up data and discovered a folder on an external drive, where I had already – years ago – typed out all the poems and then I did get rid of the box.

      And there’s about 120 pages of typed poems, so I will be able to do this blog for some time.

      maybe even, writing some newer ones.

      the categories are – in truth – not entirely mine. Some years ago, I saw a website in Web 1.0 that asked for people to submit their teenaged poems – you had to be over 40 to submit poems and the categories were all making fun of teenaged angst. I never submitted any poems, but I waited for Web 2.0 to see what technology changes would occur to make it easier to share information freely again, the way the internet was meant to be.

      Although, I did add a “sophistication” level to indicate elementary, high school and college era poems.

      but, this being a confessional blog, there’s no better person to make fun of than myself.

      and, you wouldn’t know this, but I was the Penultimate Know It All Teenager.

      But, I don’t mean that in the sense of within my family – I mean at school.
      and I really loved school, except for all the whiney teenagers, except for the ones in my audience.

      My first published work was a poem that I wrote about the actor Jon-Erik Hexum, who died in a prop gun accident. Two teen magazines published the poem and two girls in my sister’s grade, started a fan club for me – and I am pretty sure that one of them, still has that autographed copy of 16 magazine.

      She promised me that she’d hang onto it, as my first official autograph.

      So, well..where ever we go, there we are…

      I was a lot calmer as a young adult than I was as a teenager and just preferred to show how smart I was than demonstrate it.

      but now, at 44, knowing what I know know about life and everything…I appreciate what I don’t understand a lot more, because, it means that now, I have a whole lot more to learn.

      and I really like to learn

    • if you go to the confession poetry site itself – you can see the entire rainbow photo.

      so, rainbows are a kind of a bridge for me

      there and back again

  2. Ugh. Last time I moved I decided to go back to my mom’s house and dig through storage. I found a bunch of song lyrics and short stories I wrote in high school. I found out that it’s possible to turn red with embarrassment when you are alone and no one is there to see what your are embarassed about.

    I tore most of them in half and put them in separate recycling piles, just to reduce the chance that the halves would ever find each other.

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