Being Young

anonymous poems about it




it was easy to kiss you
it was scary how easy it was
to feel your hands in my hair and my waist and my back
it was easy to let you kiss me
and kiss you back
it was easy to hold your hands in mine
easy to slowly trace your skin with my finger tips

it was hard to see you walking down the hall
it was hard to look you in the eyes
it was hard to make simple conversation
hardest to see you smile, and fool myself into thinking that I didn’t want to kiss you again
and again




I do not believe in everlasting love of the romantic kind
And perhaps I am wrong for I feel I do know some
But every exception boasts a million lies
No love is perfect
There are always goodbyes

Goodbye to my mistress, goodbye to my wife
Say hello to my children and bandage their strife

Goodbye to the morning
Hello to the night

A drink drowns my sorrows
A tear drowns my might





some day
my wings will not end
where the sky begins
but soar up on the flow
and sail out with the ebb

and as i break into sunbeams
and seep into the bark of the trees
i will not end at the roots

the sea does not end where the land begins
so when i step across the road
i may fall in

but my feet know their way
and this land knows my feet
so i can’t be lost

one day
i will know where i am
and some day
i will be strong enough to reach you

i will wake
and find my branches
no longer straining up
and as i take flight
from the top of the tree

i’ll feel the air against my skin
as a feather falls off
down to earth

but i will rise
my pale light growing brighter
as i move across the night
and the ocean
would follow me anywhere

i am the hands on an old clock
pointing at now

i am the footprints
left behind by the travelers
on the trip from alone
to alone again

i am the streetlamps
the minute golden suns that light your way
to towns you’ve never seen

i am the house of your childhood
i am the distance from forever to then
i am the last song you hear before you go to sleep

we do not end
but we will always leave

someday i will be strong enough to reach you
arms and legs like vines
until the earth gives way (muddy and free;
collapsing under all our feet)
and the stars get tangled in my hair.

someday i will realize time is a myth
and the fishes
will swim in circles (upstream and
downstream are
exactly the same thing) from here
to eternity and
(to back we stand)

if i turned around and saw a mirror in your eyes
it would only be glass (and i am just as i was)
we are lost; we are free
we are incredibly lonely
incredibly alone
and the tide takes us home.
(nothing has changed)



am i

                         (have i)


   enough to go home?

someday i will be strong enough to reach you
someday i will be strong enough to heal
(someday, i will be strong enough
to forget you)

someday i will be strong enough to change
someday i will be strong enough to explain
i will be strong enough
to tell all the stories that ever needed to be told)

the wind blows
against the way i’m walking
the tide turns
and time is trapped and still.

(i’m not the same as you.)





It is difficult enough to understand
What it is you wish to gain from this life
When the rest of the world is
Trying to live it for you.
Any mistakes that we make
Are then used as punishments rather than
Learning curves or practices.
One or two bad results in school
Can snowball and lead to an entire life
Lead in disarray, trying to do things
Everybody else’s way.

We barely dare to dream anymore;
The lives we live are paved in front of us
Almost before our feet develop in utero.
Even childhood fantasies are shot down in flames
Like enemy aircraft in our sons’ war games
Or disposed of like the names
Our daughters give their dollies.

It has become condition to feel threatened
By anything that’s different to what we are;
Playgrounds become battlefields –
Hallways are the sites of guerrilla warfare.
We grow not knowing who to trust,
Terrified of being who we are because that’s something
That everyone else is not.

What kind of an example is that to set?
And yet we go on saying the new generation
Is nothing but a collection of mindless zombies,
But who made them so?

You wanted conformity and that’s what you’ve got;
No imagination, no originality left except for a select few
Who seem to have been blessed with the right genes
Or that they were raised in the right place at the right time –
They say it’s “nature or nurture” but I disagree
Because it’s both.

And yet, it is neither.

I can safely say from personal experience
That I didn’t have the best time growing up;
Picked on at school for being “too intelligent”,
Berated at home for being “too different.”
Minus a father who chose drink over duties
Plus two grandparents more used to the ideas
Of slavery than a world
Where free speech and actions are “encouraged.”

Or at least they were once.

My own mother once said to me
“You can’t have everything different about you.”

I had the insight to ask her

She couldn’t answer me.

The same way society can’t answer us now;
We are not pawns of some higher ruling’s chess game,
We are not pieces that can just be moved across the board,
Sacrificed as and when the player pleases.


We are Kings and Queens of our own domains,
With our own thoughts and opinions.
We should always have the right to speak,
But not to force anyone else to think the same way –
Otherwise where would be the beauty in democracy?

Let us be us; who we were born to be,
Who we were always meant to be,
Mistakes or no mistakes.
They make us stronger, better people in the long run.

Wouldn’t you rather strength that than continued, costly, conformity?





Sitting alone in the ice plants
Smoking cigarettes
Boys don’t like sad girls
They like the happy ones
They leave the sad ones alone and wait for them to fix themselves

And the sad girls
We sit alone in ice plants
We smoke cigarettes
And wait for the happy boys to come fix us

They never do

So we sit alone in ice plants
And smoke too many cigarettes
Out hearts turn to stone
They become too heavy for us to reach down and pick up again
We feel salt water begin to carve canyons into our cheeks
We wonder if that’s the Big Dipper or the Little one
We wonder how many people in the world are thinking of us
Maybe none

Then sad girls realize that there’s a sad boy somewhere
Sitting in the ice plants
Smoking just one more cigarette
Telling himself that someone’s going to fix him
He knows which one the Big Dipper is

Go find him in the ice plants
Kiss the salty canyons on his cheeks
Listen to him as he tells you he’s lonely
Fix him

Maybe let him fix you a little bit too





into that dark forbidden place
as if trespassing on old habits
she knew she would go back to
the devil on her shoulder
whispering things tenderly into her ear
a hollow body she calls her own
empty of the feelings she needs to survive
loneliness and solitude
although surrounded by many
tears don’t fall anymore
only dismal shadows cast upon her miserable heart
stripped away of what keeps her sane
she feels no purpose
no mercy
and continues falling
into that dark forbidden place

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