Honey, my darling Baby Girl...why did you just shoot my favorite shirt in the heart?
I appreciate the fact that you're upset because I took your cellphone away for a week.
I understand your angst, your cellphone is your lifeline to the outside world.
Oh, my dear Honey Child! I appreciate every last drop of your sunshine that shines on Me!
But, I would have appreciated it more...if you would have waited till I took it off Darlin'!
It's the one that you gave me for my birthday that weekend on the lake with Mom!
Calling out all broken dreams
Lost in perspective
Nouns and adjectives aren't what it seems
Stray from the original direactive
Lost in language
The truth and lies combine
You'll lose your mind in picking which-
For all you know , one is a Porcupine
Punishment to all those who behold
Keeping intact with all their actions
In the eyes of the old ;
Isolation at it's best is your reaction
Long last the child of isolation
murmuring nonsense at last
living in the shades of procrastination
long last the child til our decades past
Keep your mouth shut , conceal the truth
For all these things that're kept inside will be used
against you
Now , a new play to cast
Life's challenges at best
I’m sitting here alone on my bed
What should I do? I’m bored!
I feel like pulling hair outta my head
I’m feeling so ignored
Should I watch TV or play the DS?
Or call a friend on the phone?
I could clean up my bedrooms mess
Or see how my Sea Monkeys have grown
My Mum is actually working tonight
But she already cooked me tea
I might have a piece of Turkish Delight
And play Mario Olympics on the Wii
I’ve got homework, but I don’t want to do it
I’d rather sit and do nothing
Oh God! I’ve just discovered a zit!
I need Clearasil or something
It’s hard to be a teen today
With pimples and homework and school
Why does life get harder with each passing day?
Why is being a teenager so cruel?
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©copyright Juanita Torr
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I wish fatherhood could be written into words.
Let daddisms be put into pages.
Papaness be published in poetry for people without.
Let little surprises that the old man fixes,
be signified and simplified into single syllable sentences.
I wish wisdom for such a task could be reserved for the young,
at seventeen I can manufacture miracles in mass quantities,
but I can't write the simulation of a father in so many words,
for a dad can only be replaced with time,
and on second thought,
I have all the time in the world.
I may know next to nothing about booboo's,
but in teenager-isms I'm miles ahead.
Instead of knowing how to play peek-a-boo,
I know teen angst and it's many symptoms.
I know fake love at first sight,
and true love in hindsight.
Maybe I can be a good father after all.
Glasses thick, bottle style
in classes social and other,
condemn the wearer young and sweet;
jailed not of her own choosing,
but for her birth place in societal realms.
Though she strives-tries-cries,
never is heard her lonely wail,
even through words well placed
in offices of the high and mighty
student council and miss jr high’s court of fools.
They see clearly her place
as they ostracize willingly her tender youth
and without thought of tomorrow’s sorrow
condemn her to the land of undesired carnage,
where she is devoured by teenage wolves.
She pleads, she screams her needs,
critical acceptance worlds away,
wanting only a friend sharing her cares,
getting only stares from foolish jesters
ignorant of love’s meaning true.
Asking why?? she is met: Blindsided
by a sinister thesis on teen angst
as unchanged as Newton's third law,
proven timeless through the awful reality
of the junior high drama.
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