Teen Years

My friend and I were talking this afternoon and we wandered onto the subject of teen angst. I am increasingly aware of how each day brings me farther away from that time in my life. I can remember it fondly as enough time has now passed.

We talked about (made fun) how her sister-in-law deals with it and how we used to cope. We both wrote sad, sad little poems.

I dug some little treats out.

ktm, circa 16 yrs:

I got bored so
I painted my left hand grey and pretended it was dead.
I couldn't feel my book anymore and I couldn't drive to the grocery store with that hand.
People apologized. I got cards. I held a funeral.
They sent flowers.
I had to tell them it was just a joke.
So I did.
And they laughed.
So I hit them.
With my dead hand.

___________________

ktm, circa 17 yrs:

I struggle so much.
I fight inside my head with that little girl who will have no one touch her. I hate her.
She always wins.

I want to be loved
I want to love

Sometimes I pull my knees to my lips when I'm cold. I can imagine kisses so wonderful between me and another. I can share so much.

I want to share
I want to love

I want to be involved in the night.

I'm scared.
I don't want my heart to skip a beat again. I might like it again. It might want to skip more. Maybe 2 or 5...skipping into the sunset or sunrise, leaving my body lifeless in the absence of its booms.

___________________

ktm, circa 19 yrs:

When the shadow touches the pen, he will know that I have lived. Not just that I have practiced the elementary business of breathing, but that I have envied and feared. He will know that I made the shadow dance forming "E."