Bad poetry I wrote as a teenager, Volume XXVIII
When I first read this one, I thought, "Bleeding knees, what? Did you write a poem about blow jobs? But you didn't even do that in high school, you saved it for college. And furthermore, which one of your boyfriends flew in from anywhere? It that a metaphorical flying in or a Continental Airlines flying in? And guilded? Nice spelling, dumbass. Dig the rhyming couplet at the end, and by dig I mean what were you thinking?" So clearly, I don't have a story to go along with this one, because I don't remember writing it. I will, however, point out that there is a doodle on the page. Of a daisy. With paisley-patterned leaves. And a yin-yang in its center.
with gilded wings and frosty winds
to hover in the sunset
I'll fall down on Saturday
from my eroding balcony
on to the dirty pavement
You'll fly away on Sunday
high above the trees, as I
watch with bleeding knees.
Insatiable thirst for teen angst not quenched? Hit up Volume XXVII.
