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Wednesday, January 18, 2012

The bitterness of a teenage Jen

I found an extra harsh poem from high school that I thought I should share.  If a teenager wrote something like this today there would possibly be cause for concern, but I remember my teenage self so I find it hilarious.  I wasn't in any danger of hurting myself or others, I just needed an outlet for my damaged heart.  These are simply the rhymes of a bitter, broken hearted teen.  I hope they give you a laugh:

Love Sucks
Love ain't stable
love ain't true
love is like life-
not worth going through

(Keep in mind, I was not suicidal.  I was just looking for the world's best rhyme...and clearly I found it.)

Love is a burden
love is a lie
eventually you get through it-
that's when you die

(Again - not suicidal.  Just highly dramatic and a slave to my craft.)

Love is a belief
for me and for you
I believe in love
I believe in cancer, too

(I totally stole that line from a movie.  I think it starred Bruce Willis and Damon Wayans?)

Love is like ice
it hurts and it's cold
and eventually it melts away
leaving you nothing left to hold

(Here's some of that profundity I'm sure you remember from my other genius poetry)

Love is death
I've survived I don't know how
if love were an ocean
I would've drowned by now

(I totally got metaphors)

Love is a disease
love is a myth
falling in love
is like falling into a bottomless pit

(And similes, too!)

Love is a man
love's man is untrue
love is a question
with no answer to

(Super profound!  How jealous are you right now?)

It's interesting for me to think about my outlets for broken heartedness then and now.  I no longer write pathetic and sometimes very angry (yet to be - and possibly never to be - posted) poetry, but I still write as a form of expression; whether I'm happy, sad, angry, depressed, or a combination.  We all need outlets for our emotions.  Apparently writing (over sharing as it may be), is mine.  Sometimes I wonder, if I didn't honor my outlet, would the crazy that is lurking in the recesses of my brain escape and wreak havoc?  Then I think about what must be going on in the brain of the writer of Dexter and I feel a whole lot more sane.

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