Long Teenager Poems
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Six months after my Mother decided to move
out of the house, which only she and I shared.
Had not surprisingly been swept on a messy path
during preceding time.
In nondescript depot, Northern suburbs of Adelaide
We met while waiting on stationary city bound bus
I was 16, you 14, shared only gender and addiction
Your two finger signal to me, initial encouragement
Together we stepped out, sat down with ease
A pocket produced the cigarette you requested
Yet to realise your soon apparent clairvoyance
As my Angel, our meeting was ardour suspended
With nonchalance of street-wise, I shrugged a reply
"Just heading to the City, - see what's going on"
You ascertained vague expression between lines
Guaged I had nowhere prescribed to belong
Insistence that I come to your house unwarranted
I swallowed order with gratitude, steaming broth's bowl
Shock shot lame my stiff stance, flowing warmth translated
Riding the bus beside a friend, unlikely dream unfolded
A typical teenager, you lived with your family, to become
My family for the next four months, a premature adult's reprieve
Your three sisters, one brother equalled four full bedrooms
Her pure generosity allowed your Mum to willingly shelter me
Had my cashless, city bound track occurred, I shudder
to guess at possible horror hapless trajectory offered
Shahanna, the miracle of our co inciding invited my rescue
A chance for childhood dependance given to the discarded
Indebted to Shahanna's proximity, God's will
I was a boy and not a man,
living at home with mum and dad,
I liked the freedom didn’t plan,
was more about the one night stand,
I didn’t know what the long term plan was, everyone I worked with had already began
Looking after their money I rinsed my bank
Independence learning I’m like no thanks
I take my washing home
I’m there for sleeping
I get up and I go
socialise work eating
Staying out too late off to work too early
But I always went in it socially worth it,
My shift ends go drinking, no thinking
later on get weed, the weed be stinking
Drinking pulling working smoking sleeping
was all I needed, and all I was seeking
Life was good, life was easy, never better,
It could have been that pleasing forever
But I learned nothing new,
a teenager in his twenties,
And when it all fell through,
my life itself left emptied
I withdrew from the fight in isolation
Drank and smoked a hermit sleeping
I couldn’t understand the hate received
I wouldn’t demand anything that I need
I’m still a boy who lost his way,
With a mindset out to gain,
I found light on the darkest day,
Grinding out a beautiful pain
Time Io find and meet the man in me,
took my sweet time but designed to be
slow, last, when I fight I’m a sight to see,
surviving the odds, fired up for a life I lead
I will be what I set out to be,
without a doubt watch out for me,
I believe I suffered so desperately,
Tough enough to fulfil my destiny
The lifestyle for the best I can do
I know how the world works,
I know how the people work too,
Now I live it not writing words
I was a teenager, standing at the gate of a dream universe,
dressed in a white dress, flowing like rivers of milk from fairy tales,
watching how the sky melts like summer ice cream and lets its pearls fall,
whispering as if the soul of the world would listen to its quiet and melancholic song.
I remember that day with the clarity of an old mirror,
as if my eyes had always been windows to a world of velvet and gentle light.
Nothing happened, no story to tell,
just me, my dress like an angel's wing, the wind whispering and the rain like a blessing.
My dress was just smoke, a dream, but the rain,
its touch was a silk caress, a secret dialogue with my heart.
I felt wrapped in a deep stillness, like a sleeping ocean,
as if the earth itself had been my friend,
telling me that no star is too far away.
That day rests in my memory like a flower pressed between the pages of time,
like an old film stopped on a scene of fragile and eternal beauty.
The feeling I thought was lost,
the memory I thought was buried in the sand of oblivion—
I felt them again today, like a sweet ghost, returned from the shadow of dreams.
The sky poured slowly, like a wave embracing the shore,
its distant thunder was a whale's song, a murmur of the universe,
and for a moment, I let myself be carried on its wings of dreams.
That peace returned like a warm light at dawn,
but only for a breath, a sigh,
before sliding back into the realm of forgotten shadows.
they always ask me to stay a little longer,
as if laughter came from my skin.
as if I could be unlonely
just by making sure no one else is.
I fill the room,
and yet I’m never
in it.
they love me most
in photographs cropped at the waist—
in group chats
where I type like a mirror
and vanish like fog.
I am the pause before the pretty one speaks.
I am the arm wrapped around her waist.
I am the voice that steadies the silence
but never stirs the heart.
boys tell me I’m safe,
like a bed they’ll never sleep in.
they laugh
and I laugh
and my laugh
is a little too practiced.
I know how to fold desire
into a joke
before anyone sees it.
I know how to be background,
the warm blur,
the easy comfort
you never imagine kissing.
and still—
when I cry
it’s always quietly.
as if I don’t want
to make anyone
uncomfortable.
UFOs, Telepathy, Automatic Writing,
Astral Travel, Near Death Experiences,
These were the things I read when
I was a child.
When I was a teenager, I learned
That biographies and autobiographies
Are fascinating. Then I got into mysteries.
They are the chocolate caramel to my
Reader’s palate.
As a young mother, I gave up reading
Completely, because I was too busy
Watching Sesame Street and Electric
Company, because my children did
Not want to watch it “by myself”.
I do not think I read a book for
Fifteen years; maybe one, but
That’s a maybe. Now my children
Are grown, and I am pleased
To say I can read anything I
Want.
I have a Kindle; you can store
Books on it. I have about two
Hundred books stored. I
Looked at them recently.
UFO’s, telepathy, and astral
Travel are right up there
In the mix. So are Near Death
Experiences.
It’s funny that my reading
Tastes have not changed all
That much in the past
Fifty years.
I think we are who we are,
And when we find that out,
We know what we want to
Know, and do what we want
To do. Anyway, I’m certainly
Guilty of that.
I laugh as I reach for a
Biography, feeling more
In touch with my thirteen year old
Self than I have for a long time.
It's the waiting.
When time becomes thick with anticipated difficulty and borrowed suffering.
No matter how attentive and involved I may seem,
Internally I am fixated on the clock.
Each agonizing tick strikes like a hammer on my already throbbing temples.
Waiting for the call.
Hands shaking, I stare at my phone as if that will make it ring.
I feel like a teenager watching a pregnancy test after the condom breaks,
Sure of the result, powerless to change it,
Doomed to wait for those lines to appear.
Time is relentless and cruel,
Simultaneously progressing us toward our eventual demise
While filling the seconds, minutes, hours, days with Instagram photos.
We have no right of refusal, at the mercy of two hands and twelve numbers.
A face that never expresses empathy or support.
Time has no favorites.
Our charms, our wealth, our pleas are all powerless.
The playing field is level, yet I am unexpectedly on the losing team forever.
Nodding my head, pretending I am present,
Until at last the phone ringing ends my agony.
Time can stop when you least expect it.
The slug of my waiting instantly became the moment that changed everything.
Just thirty seconds to exchange pleasantries before pulling the trigger:
"The biopsy shows your daughter has lymphoma."
Time is racing now, forcing me to begin training to cross the finish line first.
______________________
sorrow is my scar that I keep hidden deep within my heart from the world
it never heals but will bleed forevermore when I think of you mother dear
and I do . . we lived in a fine house with a garden full of beautiful flowers
we took care of them together drinking tea in the shade and we would talk
I loved our country drives and how we always got lost (but discovered lots)
I miss your laughter like church bells ringing although you battled illness
mom you were the most courageous person I have or will ever know
as a child you held me close whispering I love you every single day
as a teenager and young woman you forgave me everything I did
as an adult you were my anchor . . . the reason I am this me
and when you lay sick and dying that was my hand holding
and since that day you left me I float like a drifting cloud
I would like to go back to your garden, mother dear
and lay among your scented flowers
I would gather all of them up . . .
oh, wait at Heaven's gate
I will come one day
or is that a fairy
tale, I tell
myself
____________________
June 1, 2018
Poetry/Narrative/sorrow is my scar
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1028-163-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
The Bullies (LJH - 2010)
Not just one, but many of them, each one a bully
They believe they’re better; they don’t understand me fully
What ******** they talk, what do they know about me?
They add stuff to hearsay, tell everyone and doubt me
If only they just got to know me they’d see,
I’m not the person they portray me to be
I’m a regular teenager with an older mind
If they knew me they might even like what they’d find
But it’s never the case, they just don’t care
They’d rather mock me, threaten me, it’s really not fair
They can try to intimidate me with vile words of hate,
Or stand waiting for me at the school gate
I’ll stand up for myself when I have to, though it’s a bind,
And hope that they’ll move on with their other daily grind
Knives, bottles, scissors to cut off my hair,
I get knots in my stomach, but try not to care
But how can I not care when it affects my social life,
People hating me for no reason, giving me bloody strife
I just don’t understand their mentality
their jealousy and hate is my reality
However mundane and annoying they might be,
I’ll never let the bullies get the better of me!
For G, I love you. In memory of your life path.
LGBTQ+
"Whatever you identify as, identify as an expression of love." ~ Michelle Morris
For G
By Michelle Morris
11/04/2023
You kissed a boy
And you enjoyed it
Startling and intimate
An explosion of sensations
A first love experience
Young hearts and minds
Kisses and kind hands
Feelings and emotions
You felt so different
Isolated and alone
No friends or family
To help you process the moments
Beat up by your father
Not supported by your mother
Left to fend for yourself
Through the labyrinths of life
Your siblings were defenceless
Each dealing with their own problems
You felt like Dorothy in Oz
With no guides or Yellow Brick Road
You moved through life
On a rocky path with thorns
The love of your life
Apart from you with his family
Like a forbidden love match
You furtively sought each other
Moments here and there
Time frozen in its splendour
By the time I was a teenager
You were hardened and distant
Not interested in any family
No trust left in your arsenal
We never became close
But I respected your life choices
I loved you from a distance
And supported all your wishes
To think that it all started
More than seventy years old
It's a sad and moving story
That only helps future generations
I hope that you are happy now
Looking down on us from Heaven
I hope that you're with him too
Holding hands as you watch the sunset
© Michelle Morris, 2023
"What does LGBTQIA2S+ mean? LGTBQIA2S+ is an acronym for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, ***** and/or Questioning, Intersex, Asexual, Two-Spirit, and the countless affirmative ways in which people choose to self-identify."
Santa Claus, Jim, Dad, PopPop…I admit I was a bit enthralled…
when in the course of a single day…all these names I had been called.
And it brings a smile to my face…it makes me sigh…it makes me glad…
to look back on my life at all the names that I have had.
While still in my mother’s womb…Baby was the first in a lifetime of names.
Once born, my parents, using a name out of the Bible decided to christen me with James.
I’ve been called JOY (my initials), Otto (my middle name), Elf (I prefer not to think of him)
I’ve been called Yerman, Yermy, Jimmy…but most people know me as Jim.
I had one uncle…who couldn’t remember my name…who would always call me Sonny…
And, apparently, I’m the only on in my family whoever calls me Funny.
I’ve been called a boy, a teenager, a man, a students, a teacher…a friend…
I’ve even performed a few marriages as…you guessed it…a Reverend.
I’ve been called boyfriend, husband, father…my grown children still call me Dad
I’ve been called Mr., and sir, and some names that have made me angry or sad.
Which brings me back to yesterday…a day that gave me pause…
When in one 24 hour period I was called Jim, Dad, PopPop…and Santa Claus.
All my different names have contributed to the continuous creation of Me….
each title carries its own meaning…each name evokes its own memory.
I cherish all the names I’ve been given…and I love how they’re not all the same…
I imagine that’s why I smile…when I hear someone call out my name.
It’s a wonderful way to evaluate a life…a beautiful way to keep enthralled….
As I sit back, smile…and think about…all the names I have been called.