Tag Archives: teens

Clueless Vs. Real Highscool Living

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Welll, I saw Clueless for the first time. Thought I’d write up something Ironic because, frankly, I’m a bit upset the main character was never seen doing any actual schoolwork on camera.

“you sit around, waiting for the phone to pick up

and you know you were going to pick it up yesterday-”

the movies are all cha cha

while you sit around, dreaming on your bed,

a kaleidoscope picture from some hazy memory

from the movies that are so blase`

“when are we going to find out what Cheryl has to say?

she’s out at a movie!

doesn’t everybody go?”

I’m still surprised

because the fact is I’ve been sitting here with my

diary and my quasi- problems,

my days going past me and I’m hanging close to the walls

so close

just taking in deep breaths like I can’t

stand it anymore,

lie down on the bed and you

pretend that it’s all cha cha

it’s all cha cha–

“we’re at the movies, cheryl brings a coke and we’re all

snuggled up and we’re fashion plates, living under ferns and fronds”

meanwhile me and my diary in the real world are having nights out on our own

and I’m playing mind games with myself

and I’m getting stuck by the walls,

and in the shower stalls

and everything seems stuck for closeness

even without anything or anyone

being

remotely there

Copyright 2015 Golden Star Poetry

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My album has just been released this month!!

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Probably none of you know about my singing, but I’ve spent the past year and a half composing these songs, and then all of this past summer and school year to record it and get it out there. Please check out my music, I hope you will all enjoy it! You can find the links on my new “Buy my album” page.

lots of love,
Golden Star Poetry

Monolouge-Bad Influence

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I felt like writing a monologue today. Don’t ask me why.

BAD INFLUENCE

You wanna hear about it? Ok. So basically we had this big barn in the backyard when we were little and Emma would always pretend to be a chicken in there. And she would flap her arms out like an idiot and say things that chickens might say if they had brain cells. But she would scream. When we went into kindergarten it was the same torture all over again, only she wouldn’t let me speak. It was her game, she said. Eventually she just didn’t want us to be friends.  It was weird, you know, cause most of us would play in our little groups, and we didn’t, so it kind of made me feel special. But then she turned out to be some brat from the valley who had no clue on how to get by in school. She was like that all through Junior High even, I remember her getting three D’s and she didn’t even know it was a bad thing. She ended up going to Juvie or something. Wait, no, Sarah told me about that. Sorry,  that was a rumor. Anyway, I guess I’ve been used like that most of my life. And I never get any wiser after,  And then came the whole problem of relationships, which, on the whole, do make me want to gag. But Paul was different at first, you know? He loved me so much it was almost Ethereal. Well, that’s what Amy and Daisy and Leah all said about him. So that’s that one. And the rest of my girlfriends have all gone to become waitresses at some dump restaurant at I don’t even know where, and they’re just making minimum wage on the side so that they can even afford college. It’s sad, you know? My friends. I was the only one who ended up with a A in any of the classes they failed last year. No, actually, It’s pathetic. I can’t make friends with one  good person, and it’s really itching me to know why. Can you get the hell out of here?

the Newness of Experience

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there were these gargoyles on the side of the avenue

butting thier heads at the start of each conversation

I’m part of this new nation, see

we like each other for being one another

and not somebody in the crowd

Daniels here, he has a 401k retirement and doesn’t give a damn about the present

he’s only 14.

Lilah is 25 but she smokes on the weekends

and Laurie likes to write.

The summer went fast enough

and the grass on the farms just keeps on growing

and the time keeps on slowing

and the car keeps on going

and the love all keeps showing

why, I think I was at the curb yesterday

Wishing you wouldn’t come around.

but when you did,

I just had to ask you and the rest of the town

“What am I supposed to say about you?

(or about most of us)

what do I say

about the way a head is held proudly,

supposed to be happy.

Why am i always filled with the boasts

the unusual cowards

the ones that are a mix of fascination

and repulsion?

can you tell me

what emotion am i expected to feel?

What the hell do you expect me to feel?!”

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

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Stream of consciousness #3: Average teenager- in school drama, after school drama, after hours drama

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I don’t think I will ever be involved in this sort of meaningless jabber that goes on with High school kids . It lowers your moral value, lowers your grades, and lowers your overall happiness! I just wast to say that teenage drama is utterly stupid. Thank you. Thank you.

 

Stream of Consciousness #3: Average teenager- in school drama, after school drama, after hours drama. 

in school drama

 

why did I light the first lamp

when his light burned out I screamed, your thoughts on paper, they scream back at me, and I am left,

with a cold ashen shadow

of what I have forgotten

you are leaving me rotten,

often, i am reminded, of your shirt which smells always like detergent

deterrent I am reminded

your thoughts as fuzzy and as warm I cuddle you

what good is that you say

I say it

we are all bargaining

on the source of our good wishes was it the farmer or the carpool or the fish in the pool it was so nice so warm so hapy

so much like you when all of us are relentless

like you we make a sacrifice to some unknown god, name it heaven, and paint it with plaster like our own divine deity.

like that will help, i say

you say

we are all bargaining like our sheep grazing somewhere,

only he who knows it can decipher

me reading notes to myself and when i read them I do not know what I have written

it is cat and mouse we play,

but the song’s so catchy, the song’s so matchy rhymy you get the  idea

I was stranded on these last three notes ,words you left me in this note and that I was forced to live with.

I did not strive to be myself I should have but I did not and i was swept away into an anomaly of sorts when bashed counterparts play in the assembly and they sing without

my telling

or knowing

or the understanding of one night without pie or my lemon warm fuzzy

your lemon pie you say

i say

we are all bargaining.

x  x x   x   x     x  x  x   x  x x x  x    x  xx x  x  x    x  x x

after school drama

come on, let us play you say, firstly that ball is soaked in mud EWWW i don’t want to touch it now your dirty hands on this  carpet on the grass slick and sleek like newly washed sea otters now not they give you kind signature smiles, she waves back  to the camera and expects to get some sort of response

she lifts up your finger and you do what she says, and you do what she says no matter what and she says the grass was hers and so the mud and the grass and the land all hers and yours and hers and yours and you smiled and she was gone and you sat there on the grass and the mud

dripping

dripping

dripping

x x x  x x x x  x x x  x   x  x x  x x x  x x x   x x  x x x

after hours drama

like one night

at holy shrine

one time there was a ruckus in the parking lot

and you

but you refused to move

to budge, even,

when i tipped you over you just fell

like a silent statue

you cried with me one time

and I relented having you as a friend

if the ” big boys don’t cry you cry

and if they shove you, you die

when the coffin is buried you breathe in a sigh

and get buried alive

and don’t care.

and lie

cry

you were a companion, you know

 i say,

that time is here and gone

now gone

you spit at the ground and shove bottles in my hand and give out the largest little scream and yell until your face is blue and you don’t know what to do

stop trying to be yourself,  stop trying to be yourself for god’s sakes, stop it.

Copyright 2013 Golden star Poetry