I am twelve and discover,
Not childish games to play,
Darker and more adult
Than those; affairs, drunken
Encounters, your fumbles
Of pretence I must keep quiet.
I am thirteen and a half
When halves were crucial,
My mind is a bus shelter
For my thoughts to wait
In until I can escape
The prison of your rules.
I am fourteen years old,
I do not hate your absurd
Dancing or any simple grown
Up thing I could hate, but rather
The lies and hypocrisy drooled
Across my budding truth.
I am fifteen years old,
I often recoil in disgust
From the stench of booze,
The wasteland of vomit,
I sleepwalk through
Your midnight violence.
I am sixteen years old,
I wrap myself as a parcel
In the pages of novels;
Express train exit
As I blur and smear myself
Into each black ink word.
I am seventeen years old,
‘I do not love you as much
As your sisters,’ you slur
At me, my memory is as long
As my nightmares,
You are responsible for this.
I am eighteen years old,
Growing up has taught
Me cause and consequence,
The power of licence,
Growing up has taught
Me lessons in granite.
I am so many years older,
My poems are admissions
(Yours should be confessions):
I never wanted to be
A grown up like you,
I only wanted to be free.
Comments
sunshine | June 11, 2008 - 19:55
superb - a really strong reminder that childhood can be tough and in taking us simply through the years verse, by painful verse you press home the point. This moves and gives such food for thought.
Doeslittle | June 11, 2008 - 19:59
Thank you sunshine, part of the problem is when I write something personal that it is, for obvious reasons, hard to be objective about it as a poem in itself. I am still hovering over the delete button so thanks for the comment whilst it's here!
sunshine | June 11, 2008 - 20:02
No - please don't delete. There is so much about this that deserves an audience - needs an audience maybe. The slow pace, the light and the (dominant) shade in it for example
jennifer | June 11, 2008 - 20:39
This is really, really powerful - and I bet you feel a lot better for getting it out of head and onto page...I always do...
'The lies and hypocrisy drooled
Across my budding truth'
and
'I wrap myself as a parcel
In the pages of novels;
Express train exit
As I blur and smear myself
Into each black ink word.'
are just...I have no words.
keleph | June 11, 2008 - 20:52
This is the most real and honest poem of yours I have read. It speaks from the heart; a message and a memory wrapped in incredible poetry. Please do not delete this.
Doeslittle | June 11, 2008 - 20:54
Thank you! And yes, I guess I do. I wanted to write it, but it wasn't easy to edit.
Doeslittle | June 11, 2008 - 21:49
Thanks keleph. I will try to refrain from deleting! :)
jennifer | June 11, 2008 - 21:59
COMPUTER ERROR: DO NOT DELETE! YOUR WRITING MAY BE AT RISK IF YOU DO NOT LEAVE THIS POEM UP!
Dynamaso | June 12, 2008 - 00:00
I can't add anymore than what has already been said except to say this is stunning. And I agree, please don't delete it.
littleditty | June 12, 2008 - 01:25
well done - good to read, i can empathise as many can, 'when halves were crucial' made me smile -the rest, yeah -and well said, self assertive, the structure works a treat -bravo,
Dendrite | June 12, 2008 - 01:42
Very courageous, perfectly written and tuned as usual. These are things most people won't touch, it's the real thing.
Leno | June 12, 2008 - 06:41
DON'T YOU DARE DELETE THIS!!!!!! Erm...I mean, heh heh, please don't delete. ^_^
Caldwell | June 12, 2008 - 10:05
WOW
Foster | June 12, 2008 - 17:29
I told you...
poetjude | June 18, 2008 - 13:09
Mine's another vote to keep this up... it is very good.
jude
"Cacoethes scribendi"
http://www.judesworld.net