Smells Like Teen Spirit
Oh, wait a minute, that’s poetry – teen poetry.
Ah yes, the stench of bad adolescent angst ridden writing. You know what I’m talking about. We all have some, scrawled inside a decrepit coil-ringed notebook that is squirreled away in a dusty box sitting on the top shelf of a bedroom closet.
Here’s one of mine circa early 1980s:
| Untitled |
| Waiting for someone to come |
| and save me |
| Wondering who you are |
| and if you even exist beyond the fences |
| in my mind |
| Will you ever get here |
| and how will you know it’s me |
| in this terrible void. |
| Even when I’m with you |
| I feel alone… |
| Hold me and take me |
| away from here. |
All right now, your turn to share.
Don’t be shy.
I know you have some.
