As writers, we hear a lot about improving our craft. Striving to be better. Murdering darlings.
But what about the BAD things we've written?
I'm interested in those. Specifically, ANGSTY POETRY!
Did some asshole break your heart, and you verbally owned him in your notebook? Did you write an angry ode to a jealous rival to scratch her out from under your skin? Friends/ parents/ society never understood you?!
Dust off that old journal. Dig out that box from under the stairs.
I want to hear your BEST angsty poem. Don't act like you don't have any.
You have it. I want it. The internet is rife with places to embarrass yourself. Might as well do it here with me.
That's What She Said.
The prize:
1) The dubious honour of winning the title of Feaky's Choice Angsty Poet Laureate.
2) A Thinkgeek giftcard for $50!!!! ZOMG! Those of you unaware of Thinkgeek's Awesomeness Go now. Snoop around. YOU WANT THIS PRIZE!
The rules:
1) 1 poem per person.
2) I want OLD, already written poems. Do NOT write anything new for this contest. While there's no real way for me to know the poem you submit is in fact old, lying is lame. Don't do it. Ceiling cat is watching you cheat.
3) Post your Angsty poem in the comments section of THIS post.
4) I get to choose the winner. And you don't get to bitch about it. But if you DO feel like bitching about my choice, write a poem about it. If this becomes an annual thing, maybe your poem will be next year's winner!
5) Contest ends on Tuesday the 5th of Feb. I'll announce the winner on Wednesday the 6th.
6) You won't get anything extra for tweeting/ shouting out this contest. But it WOULD be nice to see as many awesomely intense poems as possible.
ha! nice. don't have angsty; do have bad, angry poems from my youth, though. will spread the word.
ReplyDeleteThose are perfect, Valerie! Isn't teenage angst filled with anger? lol! Mine was. ;-)
DeleteHere we go! This is from my angst-filled college days.
ReplyDeleteBiological Meltdown
Tell me what I already know—
That underneath we are hard bone,
Blood and pus.
Love is delusion
Brought on by hormones
And my body’s quest
For a “provider.” Someone
To drag meat back to the den
And to eat the young when
They get too loud
And to stay out late
And to not call
And to not look my way
And to not care.
Way too long and definitely awful; this shows why I am not a poet.
ReplyDeleteMother Absentia
When she fell down on the sidewalk and scraped her knee,
where was her mother?
When a friend said something mean and hurt her feelings,
where was her mother?
She was a resilient kid, bouncing back quickly after any fall, at least on the outside. Inside, the wall was already starting to form. She needed her mother.
When she had a basketball game and actually got to play,
where was her mother?
When she brought home good news from school-straight A’s!
Where was her mother?
She began to think she didn’t matter. She thought she might even be invisible. A new layer of the wall was formed, right behind her eyes.
When her parents could no longer stay together, not even for the kids, where was her mother?
When she had to tuck herself in bed at night
and leave the closet light on to keep the bad guys away,
where was her mother?
She tried to be brave, but there were so many monsters and she needed her mother.
When she had her first grade school boyfriend,
where was her mother?
When she kissed her first boy in her parents’ closet after school,
where was her mother?
She was excited and confused by the attention of the boy. She needed some answers, some reassurance. Was this okay? She needed her mother.
When the neighborhood boy told her to lift up her dress behind her house, where was her mother?
When the huge, smelly man tried to grope the scared little girl beneath the stairwell,
where was her mother?
No one she told believed her and she really needed her mother. Her wall began to form with great speed, now.
When her body began to change and embarrass her,
where was her mother?
When her period arrived announcing her cross into womanhood,
where was her mother?
Her father was there and did the best he could. He kept her from complete loss, but she needed her mother.
When her new stepmother came into her life and rejected her,
Call me Ann, she said, I am not your mother.
Where was her mother?
When she just needed to be held or reassured that she was worthy of love, that she was not invisible,
where was her mother?
The wall closed in tight around her sad little heart.
When she first encountered a hint of real love and, terrified and trembling, gave into it only to have her heart utterly broken in numbing silence,
where was her mother?
She became defiantly independent vowing to not need anybody ever, but in the loneliest and most secret part of her, she still needed her mother.
When she lost all sense of her own worth,
bent on a self-destructive path,
where was her mother?
When she needed encouragement once she started to put the pieces back together,
where was her mother?
Her wall was fractured but still intact. She could use her mother’s help. She needed her mother.
When she finally found someone to love her, despite her obvious flaws, where was her mother?
When she felt the strong urge to run away from this acceptance and affection,
where was her mother?
She knew something must be wrong with him to waste his love on someone like her. He was breaking down her wall for God’s sake! She really needed her mother.
When she had her first child and became a mother herself, who was there to teach her how to be a mother?
As she began to understand what is was to be a mother,
she filled her own void and became her own mother.
She curled up with herself, sweet tears of relief falling,
and said, “Yes, you are worthy of love. I love you, my child, my self.”
Then she no longer needed her mother.
Here's my angsty poem. Must have been about Senior year.
ReplyDeleteI like how there's no rhyme and shows all the reasons I'm not a poet.
I see you there.
On her arm.
You look like you don't belong.
Cause you should be with me.
You said you couldn't come to the show.
You thought I wouldn't know.
But nothing stays hidden
in a town this small.
So I packed up your CD's
and your movies too.
Left them on your porch
just before the rain.
But I kept your favorite shirt.
When you see it, I hope it hurts.
And when I see you with ugly her
I hope you hear me say fuck off.
As I turn and walk away.
I should win bc I injured myself digging through crap to find what possibly should have been burned long ago. Here it is...
ReplyDeleteThe Beat(original I know)
The beat of the music
Pulses through my brain
Taking me to another world.
One similar to the one
I know.
Not the sweet melodics
Of a sweet symphony(really?)
But the loud growling
Beat
Of tortured souls
Screaming to be released.
Oh gods... *cringes in embarrassment* Okay.
ReplyDeleteRED
I wear red
wearing red makes me feel bold
crazy
outlandish
good use of that word
red is the color of passion
it is the color of love
desire
fire
no, that’s orange actually
I wear red
wearing red ensures that I will be noticed
seen
wanted
do you really think they want you?
red flows around the room like rapids
level five rapids
pounding
churning
like my red blood churns for you
a touch of red adds spice
adds heat to food
heat to a bed
heat to a kiss
your kiss? or mine?
my hair is red
my lips are red
my nails raking across your back
are red
like your red blood churning for me
red is also the color of my fury
my anger
my hatred
my resolve
to fix what, I ask you?
I wear red
wear it to draw you in
so I can push you away
hard
once you get past the red
Oh my goodness, I love this contest and idea SO much! I've enjoyed reading all the "angsty" poems above. I wrote SO many angsty poems in my teen/college years that it was hard to choose just one! But here it is to throw into the mix. And I also agree with the above poster, *cringing* as I re-read and post this. Heh.
ReplyDeleteTHIS IS LOVE
Hi, honey
My sweet
Move a little closer
Let me kill you slowly
Let me
Breath into you
My lips against yours
You'll suffocate on air
No air
It's a cruel, sweet irony
The one’s you love the most
Can break your bones
So easily
Like tiny twigs
It doesn't take much effort
So come a little closer dearest
I'll whisper in your ear
All those things you wanted to hear
You're wonderful
We'll last forever
I love you
Now watch me shove the knife in deep
And feel the pulse slow in your veins
The blood drips down your spine
Red
Like the roses you once gave me
Now, the end
That's all there is
Words don't make things true
So it really doesn't matter
How many times I try to say
I'm sorry
You'll still be dead, my love
And I still got what I wanted
This is my craptastic poem. Written in my early twenties right soon after I graduated from home after college.
ReplyDeleteJust want to feel at home
But keep wondering in my head
Just want to feel at ease
But keep wondering in my head
Looking for the next thing
Something to make my heart sing
Can't it be what I have?
Something's just not sitting right
Looking in a mirror, but can't see
Not sure I know the one staring back at me
Aimless as I journey
They say a path is already chosen
Can't seem to find it
Know the prize I want
It's guarded behind glass
Do you have what it takes?
My mind like a maze
Tiring at the threats
No solution exists now
Just want to feel at home
But keep wondering in my head
Just want to feel at ease
But keep wondering in my head
Typos galore...sorry! I moved away from home after college - that's what I was attempting to type. Geesh. : )
DeleteWhere was college? Where was home? How far are you from both now? Just curious. :D
ReplyDeleteI do this only out of love. You realize that. Right?
ReplyDeleteThe Waste
As I lay me down to sleep
I pray the lord my soul to keep
--Through the journey
Of a vast and relentless waste.
The waste is the hate--
The hate is my mate--
Through this dismal landscape
Of tranquil desolation
--I make haste.
The sights I see,
Tend to be--
Ones of quiet desperation,
Of a young souls trepidation
And tumult of ethics
In an oh so cruel existence.
And so I continue my journey,
With hate as my mate--
And the lord as my guide,
Through this dismal wasteland
--Of my mind.