I AM AN ENTITY MADE ENTIRELY OF STRESS
In celebration of finishing the final draft of my Craft of Writing creative senior paper thing (yay!), I have decided to post it here and do a dance of defiance to all three of my (finished) senior papers. "OWNED" as the young kids would say. Besides, what better home is there for angsty teen poetry than live journal?
Suburban War Cry
I.
Out from the gutters and locker rooms
crawl the unapologetic ghosts and
naked zombies, fading in and out
of the government frequency and doo-wop radio station
warbling voices recite the litany of
existence
Down the spine (The Tingler grows in the silent)
and across East Avenue apartment walls
the Call to Arms flutters and howls
As on their backs young girls call out
"We hear and with a rebel yell
More More More"
Along the docks and on the sidewalks
The insubstantial crowds of people
Talk and debate the turns of L'Atmosphere Politique
While at the edges of the assembly, something stirs
and moans as faces, pale and drawn
Turn with sudden certainty to the
Gritty and torn brick wall where
Scenes from a Lesser War
play out
The girls in soccer shorts run across fields of marijuana
and open their legs with bottles of vodka in hand
with rolling r's and bodies that twist
in sensual summer heat and ecstasy
Muscled all American sons with
Colgate smiles and the healthy scent of grass and sweat upon them
Fuck the fallen angel boys against the shower wall
and punch holes in lockers full of smiling memories and playboy cut outs
The beautifully elastic prom queen hopefuls, perfumed with heavy/sweet cologne
give furtive hand jobs between classes - sensory disconnect
Tell their parents easy lies at dinner time
and lie awake, staring at the cracks in the ceiling - deciphering the meaning of life
loose limbed men and women with wary eyes
and cigarettes between gloved fingers, drumming on trash cans
they burn the house down around themselves
scrambling to tear The Man asunder, they fall
The quiet houses and unspoken NEEDS
of the girls and boys whose every hour
is mapped and parent approved (kid tested) - clean
they only learn how to live in Big Brother's back yard
Boys with long hair and sarcastic t-shirts crawl into the space between calculations
and call out questions when the chatter of youth grows torpid
Smiling they nimbly turn around the windows
And show each other what's painted on the outside
Sweet sips of flavored coffee in the morning, sends uncertain women
across the school yard and into classrooms
fuck-me-harder fantasies and the swell of breasts beneath tank tops
pass the stagnant minutes of math class
The boys with broken pencils and scraped knuckles
who look to the army recruiters with weary recognition
sing out the bravado of battle and salute the flag
while seeing in secret night hours, only a lined and bitter old man future
sitting in the back of the packed movie house / on the other end of the couch
the eyes of the slashers crinkle with the knowing smile and surprised laughter
"Did you see that? It's all text now." Bloody blatant.
The world misses the subversion woven into its air waves
In darkened rooms and on unmade beds
the night listeners run their fingers over typed words
and cry out "why" with the chemical scream of music
and insomnia
II.
waking up with grass pressed to salty lips
she, underwent the strange flesh marks
rehearsed the rodent song under the closet door
Traced kinky visions up walls and between
floor boards
Cantankerously, I, admonished god from the roof tops
dug new and exciting - dark meanings from electric tomes
borrowed fierce courage from the screaming scholars
who stood naked before the PMRC
Dark green winding path sanctuary
and the warm, grass smoke sweet air
holds the muted conversation, the cries
of epiphany and intimacy and wonder
III.
A voice races down the phone line
A sobbing broken screaming accusation
"HERE IS MY PAIN, GIVE ME YOUR ANGER"
give me your anger you bitch
And my generation stands up - parody your pain
before it eats you alive
Building up the bridges and tearing down walls
looking behind the curtain, naked underneath their graduation robes
my generation reached up to the touch the unknown
and fucked The Mystery against a wall
With delicious aggression, we sprang from unexpected alcoves
said fuck you and swore protection in one breath
"the enemy of my enemy is in my blood"
while outside the world crouches, ready to pounce
Throwing off the suffocating cherry blossom stench of Lover's Lane
We meet in bedrooms and back alleys, between classes
send each other innuendo in eye contact and tasteless jokes
experience the centuries old rush of puppy love through 3-D glasses
Overcome with almost simple joy, the innocent discovered sex
learned to unlearn the word "sinning" and gasped into
lips and hands between teeth, kinky night phantoms turned pure pleasure
the shame of the forbidden transformed to giddy rebellion
In sunlit rooms, they explored hitherto unknown psychic pathways
laughing with disbelief as the reptile brain engages and
the ground shaking truth of sensation claws at the base of the spine
electric white out of constricted muscles and hissed breath
IV.
And sometimes we grew tired and lay down
found solace in the gentle arms of melodrama
tracing the well worn plot paths of pathos
we watched with palpable relief as things Worked Out All Right
and awoke from easy dreams to claw our way into reality
Blowing open our minds with joints and conversation
we asked "are they my poor?" and shivered at
the freedom to build a wall against the world, found
sweet release in the visceral decision to Do Unto Others
Realizing our own morality, we balked at inevitability
and shivered in moon bathed beds, fearing for the
vulnerable self to which we swore allegiance
toying already with resignation
Shooting up on chemical images and explosions
we gasped with fear/inspiration/wonder
as the shadow people played across our features
reached in and made love to our darkness
V.
And as always, O My Enemy, you crouch beneath desks
and behind chalkboards, drawing hyperbole from truth-knowing lips
pressing faces to carpet grain, speaking only in second hands
and the Blood Feuds of others
denying plausibility and the thousand implications of a gun
(sex, death, life, war, COMBUSTION)
lying down in the cold trench water
you sketch banalities in blood
VI.
Treating itself only to the luxury of exploration
the cautious anger of my generation turned in on itself
as We discovered the human complication behind every role
and knew the quirks and braveries of those we called Other
Rising like the tide against that which is easy and flat and dumb
we drew red blood on the antiseptic mind of our parents
demanding sweetness and violence and desperation
we threw open the prison doors and burned down the gallows
Staring with wide open eyes and mouths, Mohamed saw the mountain and
we saw ourselves, flawed and full of contradictions, slipping in out of
dull talk and breath stealing revelations and the high we don't understand
slipping back into ourselves from time to time, doing our bodies justice
Even if our minds could not reach nirvana on cue, we join hands and joined
a holy battle to break bondage chains
To watch PORN and abort the moral majority tissue
to make a thousand kinds of love, to FUCK
to sit at the lunch counter and read our radical left wing rag, REBEL
to offer up a NOTHING prayer in school buildings, wear short skirts
to throw off a thousand year old plan and scream out proudly
I AM ALL THE WORDS YOU THREW AT ME ON THE PLAYGROUND
I AM ALL THE THINGS I WAS AFRAID TO TOUCH
The end. MUST GET THROUGH THESE LAST TWO WEEKS. It seems insane that I still have this much work. Oh wait, I forgot, teachers live only for the sweet pleasure of torturing me, carry on.
Suburban War Cry
I.
Out from the gutters and locker rooms
crawl the unapologetic ghosts and
naked zombies, fading in and out
of the government frequency and doo-wop radio station
warbling voices recite the litany of
existence
Down the spine (The Tingler grows in the silent)
and across East Avenue apartment walls
the Call to Arms flutters and howls
As on their backs young girls call out
"We hear and with a rebel yell
More More More"
Along the docks and on the sidewalks
The insubstantial crowds of people
Talk and debate the turns of L'Atmosphere Politique
While at the edges of the assembly, something stirs
and moans as faces, pale and drawn
Turn with sudden certainty to the
Gritty and torn brick wall where
Scenes from a Lesser War
play out
The girls in soccer shorts run across fields of marijuana
and open their legs with bottles of vodka in hand
with rolling r's and bodies that twist
in sensual summer heat and ecstasy
Muscled all American sons with
Colgate smiles and the healthy scent of grass and sweat upon them
Fuck the fallen angel boys against the shower wall
and punch holes in lockers full of smiling memories and playboy cut outs
The beautifully elastic prom queen hopefuls, perfumed with heavy/sweet cologne
give furtive hand jobs between classes - sensory disconnect
Tell their parents easy lies at dinner time
and lie awake, staring at the cracks in the ceiling - deciphering the meaning of life
loose limbed men and women with wary eyes
and cigarettes between gloved fingers, drumming on trash cans
they burn the house down around themselves
scrambling to tear The Man asunder, they fall
The quiet houses and unspoken NEEDS
of the girls and boys whose every hour
is mapped and parent approved (kid tested) - clean
they only learn how to live in Big Brother's back yard
Boys with long hair and sarcastic t-shirts crawl into the space between calculations
and call out questions when the chatter of youth grows torpid
Smiling they nimbly turn around the windows
And show each other what's painted on the outside
Sweet sips of flavored coffee in the morning, sends uncertain women
across the school yard and into classrooms
fuck-me-harder fantasies and the swell of breasts beneath tank tops
pass the stagnant minutes of math class
The boys with broken pencils and scraped knuckles
who look to the army recruiters with weary recognition
sing out the bravado of battle and salute the flag
while seeing in secret night hours, only a lined and bitter old man future
sitting in the back of the packed movie house / on the other end of the couch
the eyes of the slashers crinkle with the knowing smile and surprised laughter
"Did you see that? It's all text now." Bloody blatant.
The world misses the subversion woven into its air waves
In darkened rooms and on unmade beds
the night listeners run their fingers over typed words
and cry out "why" with the chemical scream of music
and insomnia
II.
waking up with grass pressed to salty lips
she, underwent the strange flesh marks
rehearsed the rodent song under the closet door
Traced kinky visions up walls and between
floor boards
Cantankerously, I, admonished god from the roof tops
dug new and exciting - dark meanings from electric tomes
borrowed fierce courage from the screaming scholars
who stood naked before the PMRC
Dark green winding path sanctuary
and the warm, grass smoke sweet air
holds the muted conversation, the cries
of epiphany and intimacy and wonder
III.
A voice races down the phone line
A sobbing broken screaming accusation
"HERE IS MY PAIN, GIVE ME YOUR ANGER"
give me your anger you bitch
And my generation stands up - parody your pain
before it eats you alive
Building up the bridges and tearing down walls
looking behind the curtain, naked underneath their graduation robes
my generation reached up to the touch the unknown
and fucked The Mystery against a wall
With delicious aggression, we sprang from unexpected alcoves
said fuck you and swore protection in one breath
"the enemy of my enemy is in my blood"
while outside the world crouches, ready to pounce
Throwing off the suffocating cherry blossom stench of Lover's Lane
We meet in bedrooms and back alleys, between classes
send each other innuendo in eye contact and tasteless jokes
experience the centuries old rush of puppy love through 3-D glasses
Overcome with almost simple joy, the innocent discovered sex
learned to unlearn the word "sinning" and gasped into
lips and hands between teeth, kinky night phantoms turned pure pleasure
the shame of the forbidden transformed to giddy rebellion
In sunlit rooms, they explored hitherto unknown psychic pathways
laughing with disbelief as the reptile brain engages and
the ground shaking truth of sensation claws at the base of the spine
electric white out of constricted muscles and hissed breath
IV.
And sometimes we grew tired and lay down
found solace in the gentle arms of melodrama
tracing the well worn plot paths of pathos
we watched with palpable relief as things Worked Out All Right
and awoke from easy dreams to claw our way into reality
Blowing open our minds with joints and conversation
we asked "are they my poor?" and shivered at
the freedom to build a wall against the world, found
sweet release in the visceral decision to Do Unto Others
Realizing our own morality, we balked at inevitability
and shivered in moon bathed beds, fearing for the
vulnerable self to which we swore allegiance
toying already with resignation
Shooting up on chemical images and explosions
we gasped with fear/inspiration/wonder
as the shadow people played across our features
reached in and made love to our darkness
V.
And as always, O My Enemy, you crouch beneath desks
and behind chalkboards, drawing hyperbole from truth-knowing lips
pressing faces to carpet grain, speaking only in second hands
and the Blood Feuds of others
denying plausibility and the thousand implications of a gun
(sex, death, life, war, COMBUSTION)
lying down in the cold trench water
you sketch banalities in blood
VI.
Treating itself only to the luxury of exploration
the cautious anger of my generation turned in on itself
as We discovered the human complication behind every role
and knew the quirks and braveries of those we called Other
Rising like the tide against that which is easy and flat and dumb
we drew red blood on the antiseptic mind of our parents
demanding sweetness and violence and desperation
we threw open the prison doors and burned down the gallows
Staring with wide open eyes and mouths, Mohamed saw the mountain and
we saw ourselves, flawed and full of contradictions, slipping in out of
dull talk and breath stealing revelations and the high we don't understand
slipping back into ourselves from time to time, doing our bodies justice
Even if our minds could not reach nirvana on cue, we join hands and joined
a holy battle to break bondage chains
To watch PORN and abort the moral majority tissue
to make a thousand kinds of love, to FUCK
to sit at the lunch counter and read our radical left wing rag, REBEL
to offer up a NOTHING prayer in school buildings, wear short skirts
to throw off a thousand year old plan and scream out proudly
I AM ALL THE WORDS YOU THREW AT ME ON THE PLAYGROUND
I AM ALL THE THINGS I WAS AFRAID TO TOUCH
The end. MUST GET THROUGH THESE LAST TWO WEEKS. It seems insane that I still have this much work. Oh wait, I forgot, teachers live only for the sweet pleasure of torturing me, carry on.