Generation X Poetry

From my sketch book, circa '95.

I wrote these between 1992 and 1998…or between the ages of 15 and 17, with some revisions at age 20.  They are just a tiny bit of all I wrote back then.

1.  10/92  (Undecided) The Beginning

Am I wrong to be so free?
Should I look ahead of me?
Am I too close to get connected?
A painful love is not so rejected.
Do I hate to love my own?
-to love my blood?
-to love my home?
Well, I will look sideways away from him,
and walk the byways, the light so dim.

Or am I good in thinking thoughts
of younger love to soon be got?
I’m unsure, because one knows
already, now.
To just suppose–
can I tell him?
Can he be trusted
with all my pain deeply encrusted?
I don’t want to give out my past,
but he’d tell me real clear and fast.

Am I wrong or am I good
to be so free in thinking thoughts?
Should I look of younger love
ahead of me to soon be got?
Am I too close–I’m unsure–
to get connected, because one knows.
(A painful love, already, now, is not so rejected.)
To just suppose–
do I hate (can I tell him?)
to love my own,
(Can he be trusted to love my blood with all my pain?)
to love my home deeply encrusted?
Well, I will look sideways (I don’t want to)
away from him (give out my past?)
and walk the byways; but he’d tell me
the light so dim,
real clear and fast.

2.  12-7-92   (Day Dreamer) The Dream

Perplexity drifting through that happy crowd.
I look over the faces watching the lounge act.
My fingers trail the black and white cloudnesses.
Leaping in bounds over wheat in the fields.
Seeing my shoes in a field of fox tails.
Then they are soggy, slushy, irrigationalized.
There he is, his black clothes, his long hair.
He’s listening to music that only he hears.
Tapping long, strong fingers on a bouncing knee.
And the dream goes on.

3.  12-15-92 (Nonrefundable Airplane Ticket) The Ride

Explain your reason for my screaming,
and the twisted, queasy feeling
I got when I was taken for a ride.

4.  12-20-92  (Little Christs) The Faith

Don’t surrender to their superiority
just because you joined the minority.
We are backed by the Majority.

5.  ? (Procession Through Life) The Good Life

I like the rain as it beads down the windowpane.
The dewy drops and streaks appear but wash away.
A mist forms from my warm breath as I sit and stare.

6.  1-5-93 (Divided) The Bad Life

Behind a black and darkened wall–
still transparent, I see through vaguely.
My life is floating on the other side,
unable to see my desperate grasping.
I push and push on the dark, black screen
and try to yell at my life in the air.
It only hears my screams as a whisper,
yet knowingly tries to understand.

7.  1-6-93  (Hermititude) The Spotlight

Spotlight!
Underneath it, we all react individually.
It will eventually cross us each,
but most of us are still in the dark.
Now I feel the light’s faint heat,
and though it excites me as it accepts me,
the light starts to burn, I smell my skin.
I remember why I hid in the shadows.

8.  1-15-93  (Mental Bracelet) The Gift

Now I switch my opposition of the gift that now is sweet.
Hand-crafted by a twisted heart I helped to grow and mend.

9.  1-25-93  (Humble Life) The Chains

I want to live if only I could just swallow my pride
IN ONE LARGE GULP,
and say good-bye!

10.  1-25-93  (Hypocritic Lie) The System

Fluidity
I pray I can
Undermine it
Capture its entity
Help me help you
End the structure of course alignments
Blend it all in
But keep us separate
Hypocrite

11.  2-4-93  (Please Expose the Prose) The Expression

I want a new word.
I’m sick of the meaningless ones I know.
Or help me, should I begin to understand their covered glow.
Spontaneous or expressive,
please replace this static
with words that flow?!

12.  2-4-93  (Corner of Authority) The Nightmare

A hand clasping my breath.
A sharpness at my throat.
The muscles of my jaw revolt.
Silently, I scream, “Don’t strangle me!”

13.  2-11-93 (The Coup de Tat of the American Democracy) The Rat Race

Flinching at the clash of views varietous.
Increasing in their hate, filling the gray
with black years cackled over.
No-names, yet elected men preying for our deaths.
Depending on the sadness they’re creating–
-is it too late?

14.  3-4-93  (Untitled) The Stoned

Lethargy is tantamount to us to breathing
Acid indigestion is an epidermis thing now
The universal cold is a nasal passage full of snow
Therapy is learning not to laugh
We stopped committing suicide and gave up wishing we could die

15.  3-16-93 (Poisonous Housewife) The Imagination

The Widow on his shoulder,
Black with timeless red,
whispering in his ear:
“The Windex washed the blood away, my dear.”

16.  3-18-93  (Stuck to It) The Breakdown

Free me from insanity.
Everyone just let me be.
No one’s leaving and no one will,
in the corner, standing still.

17.  3-21-93  (Victim) The Pit

No one comes to get me.
It’s just as well they let me be.
Unable to resist the fear that comes with each unstifled tear.

inside me grows the panic stitched
into my gut outwardly pitched.

A monotone of screams cascade
the galaxy of debts unpaid.

The wire cage they threw me in
has now become my outer skin.

So much now for the life I planned.
I’m rated as their grain of sand.

The meal they eat is owed to me,
yet chew my flesh ungratefully.

As time allows my death will come.
They’ll still live their lives as scum.

Yes, I am just the ritual,
and, until death, habitual.

18.  ?  (The Child’s Sky) The Inner Sky

The blue sprinkles made a bowl,
and cupped with glue, a paper-machet,
and yellow glob dripped into it,
and cotton, dripping wet, stuck to.

19.   4-18-93  (Old Flame) The Flame

Extreme dislike for the unspoken.
Come with your lips ajar.
Speak with a tongue prepared.
A silver tongue for my impatient ears
of thoughts unspoken all these years.
Has been too long, the flame is cool,
but I do see the years went slow
without someone to help you grow
and lift you from the resting stool.

20.  5-27-93 (Lingered Lightning Bolt) The Friend

The front of the storm– it brings him rebirth.
As it billows over, I see it as a cage,
yet he as a painting one cannot recreate.

21.  5-29-93  (Pacified by Faux) The Father

Three plastic cones in a row.
Three fake rosebuds seen inside.
Never will they wither.
Inanimate life never begun or completed.
Visited them, a butterfly.
Never seen before it passed me by.
It suckled each for what it looked and flew back into the sun.

22.  6-28-93 (Dreamy Aroma) The Fantasy

Where I lost his scent,
a memory appears suddenly.
The frustrating search subsides.
Rest my head upon our pillow.
Memory I let seep into me.
I cry no tears in such a dream,
so to find his scent in me.

23.  7-5-93  (Hasbrouck’s Balcony) The Tortured

Lifting fears above their eyes,
he’s not letting them see his tears.
Running from their battle cries,
unleashing pain from buried years.
David’s balcony will kill
soul of morbid depth sitting there.
Looking down at aliens,
making different what they share.
I’m not trying to understand
the balcony swallowing this man.
Demon-bitten, taloned words,
his paper-staining innards.

24.  7-24-93 (Crazy First Impression) The Dress

A dress that I am frightened of.
Estranged to the tune they dance to.
Too smooth is their beat.
To me an edgy riff that breaks glass
to dance on and scare that dress right off me.
Oh how such would suit me,
to prove our difference is meaningless!

25.  10-29-93  (Bottomless Compost) The Thorn

I sit here wishing I lived
not on earth, a pit
of sorrows, a thorn
without a rose.

26.  ?  (Dead, Dry Spiderman) The Dead Thing

Graven grin nailed to his face.
Stepping watchfully his pace.
Holding on to black sublime.
Gripping on the mansion side.
(Dead, dry Spiderman)

27.  ? (Spitshined Rag) The Goal

She trips over the sun, her thoughts so high.
She trips over the sun and asks it why
it burns so bright, it stretches so far.
She trips over the sun and grasps a star.
She grasps a star, her hope is low.
She grasps a star and won’t let go.
She will survive through pain and strife.
She grasps a star and ponders life.
She ponders life monotonous.
She ponders life, unasked for gift.
Unknown to her why she lived it,
she ponders life as low as spit.

28.  11-5-93 (Friendly, Unsuspecting Target) The Adventure

Angry man
Volume low
Just a smile
Then his foe
Volume high
Battle cry
Private spy
Rapid fire
Taken down
Selective

29.  ? (Dead Child for Eternity) The Inner Nothing

Rachel in corner sits
Years passed by, motionless stare–
straight into Nothing–
is the feeling, a void.

30.  ? (If) The Contradiction

When
The umbrella fades and I summon back my sun.
The milk is gone and I pick my meal.
The realization of my carelessness startles me awake.
When
The man speaks his silver lies and I do not listen.
The snake tempts me to let it in and I cut it.
The mood hits me just right and yet I starve myself.
When
The mirror sees me and I hear it screaming.
The stuff that people call me is tattooed on my body.
The worldly pleasures become my normalcy.
When
The words used so often I make unique.
The trends I never started I make fade from my mind.
The triumph I chose feels renewed again.
When
The past comes up to deep kiss me and I bite off its tongue.
The memories of stupidity float to the surface and I drown them.
The people I knew when I didn’t know myself mock me and I laugh.
Then
I will know.

31.  11-18-93  (Day Dream in Detention) The Coward

The children sit, ears open wide;
wipes away the pain inside.
Listening to just forget,
knowing they could never quit.
The child sits
very still;
staring through a structure tall,
staring through the caging wall.
Across the room, something rare
gives the child quite a scare.
Eyes that understand her, stare.
They both stand up, the children shocked,
but they go and get the cage unlocked.
Out the walls they bravely walk.
Without a word they talk.

32.  ? (Back-Burner) The Inner Nothing2

There is a floating thing in the back of my head.
A child is crying, her childhood dead.
Freezing in time like the tears on her face.
Withdrawn, nonresponsive, staring into space.

33.  ?  (Dysfunctional Democracy) The Ranting

We are glued to earth.
We are owned by our country.
We answer to the system (for we have no other).
We are raised by our aunt, uncle, grandparent, father, mother.
We are sleeping in the alley (no money, drugs, or family).
We are ignorantly sipping tea (look the other way).
We are looking down on others (annihilate our brothers).
We are ending life forever.
We are selling out our souls.
We are waiting by the phone (watching TV all alone)
as our audio friends drone on with the saxophone.
We are growing very big with an illegitimate kid.
We are taking what they give (changing how we live)
and throwing every life away.

34.  1-1-94  (Wait Ten Years…) The New Dog

The old dog years of the quivering age.
Terrible reminders of when life was.
When it was true, grand, rich, sweet.
Terrible reminders of the new dog.

35.  1-14-94  (Utencil Abuse) The Neglected

The pen is sitting solemnly against the blue striped page
in its slumber, waiting to be held–
waiting to salivate the thoughts of one so full–
waiting to be an outlet, waiting to be used.
Never has it slept so long, never has it lain.
Never have the fingers stopped so long as to neglect.

36.  1-28-94  (Malnourished) The Stone

Stepping stones of growth trail endlessly,
yet not upward,
is this why we cry with each step?
No pain is so severe as to know that growth is death–
a useless waste of what we do not know as the life we have left.

Will someday someone find hope that is clear?
Will someone create it or was it always here?

37.  2-17-94 (Not a Clone) The Un-Clone

Don’t drip on me your acid condemnation.
Can you not stop the flow of curiosity?
I sense your purple hatred–ferocity.
Understand my soul thrives by deprivation.
To be just like you I want not–isolation.

38.  4-18-94  (Clone) The Clone

You are a crippled one my son–
pounded, imprinted fact about you.
Sinking in the pity ocean, dying with a sob.
Remember when everything was new?
Bend and squeeze from the clone you’ve become.

39.  9-26-94 (Pastime) The Habit

Crushing my ‘cig on the sidewalk today,
felt so safe to see the smoke drift away.
I left the smell to linger behind me,
resting there in the crack.
I miss the passing of time and I want it back.

40.  10-6-94  (Senior Quote) The Senior Quote

Lateness licks my tears, and then,
swishing them with a grin,
spits them away.
The regret of not knowing you evaporates,
bitterly.

41.  12-27-94 (Given to Regret) The Users

Ate inside your tender frame, expecting
taste without repay, but for your regurgitate.
You should’ve exploded
before their deeds were done.
It’s happened before, my foolish one,
they’re eating you for lunch.
They should say you were delish’,
But they never said please and they never will be.

42.  1-27-95 (Here Fishy Fishy) The Minnow

A porthole, this window is
a diving board, this windowsill.
Jump right in, you aged minnow
into this aged ocean, still.

43.  4-18-95 (EX-WALL) The Lie

I’ve made you into a wall, however tall.
You might’ve thought too tall to leap, but I’ve long passed you by.
I’m no longer your little sheep, and the time is passed that I would cry.
A wall is just a wall.
Lean against it, swat the flies.
Can’t remember when it held me and told me lies.
It’s all over, rather, I’ve jumped over it.
The dot on the horizon is my ex-wall.

44.  5-2-95 (Friend) The Habit2

Don’t let the wind smoke my cigarette.
I’ll come back for it, if you wait here a bit.

45.  5-24-95  (EX-WALL 4) The Wall

Little bit of question mark still glued to my brain.
Pieces of my mind lay all around me on everything.
Remember the sound waves we never let tickle our ears?
If it wasn’t for you, we would’ve stayed deaf for years.

46.  8-29-95 (Sun + Moon) The Sun and The Moon

My mother holds the clear key
to the red door under the blue sea.
My mother rests on the green bed
with the white shores where she lays her head.
My mother shines on everything, she is reflected.
When night falls and she is gone, I am not neglected.
For my lover, though not as strong
visits every month when nights get long.
Though the clouds may hog all her light,
I still feel her, she is so bright–
and holds the clear key to the red door under the blue sea.

47.  3/93-8/95  10/98  (History Class?) The Poem

Cosmetics have stealthed my poetic face,
wandering aimlessly in a desolate salon.
Released with a bell, captured by another.
Tamed and taught, lost and naked.
Only eyes I am seeing with the soul inside,
only the monotone remembrance of shame.
Swallowing the settled for, gulping the impure.
But there’s something to be said
for a girl who smokes a limber cigarette.

48.  5/95  10/98  (Untitled) The End

I stretch for the moon at dawn.
I worship the sun’s warmth when it’s gone.
I dream for my California coffee
as I muddle through this military housing.

Tell it:

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s