ITT pretentious poetry from when you were a teenager

I'm too embarrassed to post any. I used to post them on critique threads and would always get shit on.

>>8629380
joke's on you i burned it all

>keeping anything at all that reminds you of your past

it's like you want to be overcome with suicidal regret again and again

>>8629380
I burned it all when I was still in college and was heavily into drugs. It was supposed to be some "ritualistic" thing where I would throw the old me into the past or some shit like that. Bit of a shame. I feel like I could had rescued some of the themes and ideas.

>>8629380

O, let the vile world end,
And the premised flames of the last day
Knit earth and heaven together!
Now let the general trumpet blow his blast,
Particularities and petty sounds
To cease! Wast thou ordain'd, dear father,
To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve
The silver livery of advised age,
And, in thy reverence and thy chair-days, thus
To die in ruffian battle? Even at this sight
My heart is turn'd to stone: and while 'tis mine,
It shall be stony. York not our old men spares;
No more will I their babes: tears virginal
Shall be to me even as the dew to fire,
And beauty that the tyrant oft reclaims
Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax.
Henceforth I will not have to do with pity

>>8629399
so i guess its safe to say you were pretty unbearable in college?

>He who walks in darkness sees clearly, unburdened by the light of the world.

I jotted that in a high-school notebook. I can say at least that the darkness I meant wasn't an emotional darkness. I was trying to say in a poetic kind of way that outsiders have a better sense of a thing than insiders. I was trying to be proverbial, and pseudoBiblical, even though I'd at that point read none of the Bible.

>>8629401
The prose is almost adequate, although it fumbles in places, but the contents alternate between pure edgelord filth and total nonsense in flowery disguise.

>>8629380
>pretentiousness is bad

Found the post-modernist

I started this thread because because I found some old poems from when I was 15 and for some reason I feel an urge to post some of it and see what it looks like to others. I guess because it's weird to have written something you thought was cool and then have it melt into verbal diarrhea before your eyes.

Bitter and high,
Bitter and high
The rasping sky
Speaks in a voice
like frayed thread
and the blood in your head
moves to an alien gravity
like we were going up
an elevator
so clear you cant
see or feel it
Above the tilt
of vertigo
Drunk and sick with height
height that pours down
through every gut of our body
Engorged on height
The tasteless, odourless, voiceless
height streams by us like cyanide
Cyanide fills every goosepimple of our body
our bones are chilled to sleet

>>8629401
I was thinking this was pretty good until I realized, so I guess I'm cool.

From words I hear while sitting here:
I
Weather bawling like a baby
100 miles per hour
two more answer sheets
right into the ocean and anything
everything Victory found
regret exchanging with crazy roots
In girl's locker rooms- terrible contact with the world
Reflected in the quiet heat of absent look layered with poles
And pigments crying in figure 8s
in space. Observe the red in the cheeks
kiss chill wavelength didn't want heat didn't want space didn't want
absent black to slam sight
sugar that turns to snowball inside and outside
clouds of pigment
absorbed quiet energy
and with animal escape of disgusing synthesis
put motion in cold trapped relationship
with brain's vision
A
horrible violet sense of violence
bite the finger
Love is
the least organized thing
I can understand
II
A qeustion mark.the tallest one ever
switching between sleep and
the space of earth.clear blends with dark
an outer and deep -through-- the light
reflected or bent is always deflected
when it reahces the evidence of interest
Porn is always of interest. love is always...
I keep thinking that the dark will freeze
Brain- I'll let you go. Just tell me how
to leave thought and love would absorb...
absorb everything... I pass through
the connection between the space and the inner now
full force between humid
love and energy

>>8629429
>The prose

>>8629429
Shakespeare confirmed hack everyone, got debunked by anon on /lit/.

There's nothing left here
I've swallowed my fear
for the dust to settle
on this broken heap of metal
I'll have no one to hold dear

File: 13092410_230604483982535_1677797759_n.jpg (35KB, 480x480px) Image search: [Google]

35KB, 480x480px

>>8629380
Arms so pale, you can see the veins
Mind so numb, I can't feel the blade
The blood is pooling at my feet
One cut for every promise I couldn't keep
Therapists don't understand
The pain inflicted by my hand
I need to stripe my pallid skin
Because I can't stop thinking about him

>writing poetry
>keeping it

>>8629811
Nigga thats gay

>>8629811
Jesus christ that was a good dose
I need to lay down for a while after that one

File: 1474592637356.png (84KB, 256x238px) Image search: [Google]

84KB, 256x238px

>>8629811

>>8629811
Lmao. People laugh at this obvious girl but won't post their own.

I got a poem published in 7th grade a yearly anthology written by kids where I literally dissected "good riddance" by Green Day and warped it into some bullshit about not giving up the fight. Pure cringe. Maybe I am cursed by my absolute shitty poem and thats why I can't ever finish a story or novel, idk.

File: 1474236160619.jpg (22KB, 430x290px) Image search: [Google]

22KB, 430x290px

>when your teenage poetry was atrocious but not pretentious

>>8629395
this
not even photos


also, how is this thread any different from the critique threads?

>>8630443
I never wrote poetry because I'm not a gay LOL

Fuck you OP you made me dig up my old shit, I found this gemstone of pretentious filth I reckon I wrote at about 16/17. Also fuck prose poems, I think I've only seen them pulled off well three times.

I remember hearing you talk about your interests for the first time.
It was a yellow day, the air smelt of tobacco and ground coffee
And flowers. The window was propped open (the book was Politics in England by Richard Rose) and
I remember, your smooth face, your voice fresh with strawberries and bright colours, like
Listening to Kandinsky, much preferable to any music I could think of. You had a gay rhythm, like Bossa, in the summer heat, like an old musician happy to be strumming
And dancing, you danced as heat does on asphalt, haze on verdant fields. There was nothing more enjoyable than hearing you talk, your smile of recognition, your smirk of respect, hand wrapping your face like waddling, taut peaches submerged in cream. I'm not
Sure which.

Ad Principessam Lunæ

1. A blue dress is taut,
stiff, and crinkling.
Where I am it’s known not,
a sad state of being.

2. Taut is this as well,
a bit sweeter, despite
the trembling almost as hell.
The cool heat within white.

3. But what is even tauter
is your motions and their anima.
To not see the thoughts they offer
the eastern savior’s pure, heißt lamia.

4. And I know you cry beyond your heart
and within, but remember that Heaven bled.
If we forget the wish and wist, in that part
let us at least have had near-perfection, what so briefly we said.

>>8630465
I don't like poetry either. But this was the signal to being a smart kid, and the teachers were pushing it. I was a hopeless fucking loser, so I needed some recognition.

File: msn-messenger-3.jpg (45KB, 400x400px) Image search: [Google]

45KB, 400x400px

Luckily all my poetry from that time is kept in the hotmail inboxes of the qt girls i anonymously sent them to. that or gone with the wind -sent through msn messenger.

>>8630462
>not even photos
exactly, just not a trace.

i feel bad for kids who grow up on social media and won't have that option.

>>8630532
if you think about it, even the presidents and prime-ministers of the future WILL have some edgy angsty teenager poem somewhere on the internet. And ridiculous photos where he is dressed awfully while awkwardly hugging the girl he likes (hoverhand of course) with his face full of acne

thankfully I'll go through none of that if I become prime-minister

I never even showed up for the school pictures, so in every album I'm missing

>>8630551
Anyone who hover hands will never have the self-belief or confidence to enter high-level politics

>>8630551
Even the current presidents get shitloads of old dirt dug up because of modern media, I can't imagine how bad it will get.

I want to hold your hand
She said
My hands are cold;
Hold my heart instead

My father is sonless
But so is the sky
Without a sun
They both will die

And if you walked a mile in my shoes
They'd probably come untied
And if I punched you in the mouth
You'd eat all of your beans refried

I submitted this to a poetry website 8 years ago. At least I've grown up since then, God this is one of the worst things I have ever read. I can't believe I created something so incredibly awful

>>8630581
The first verse is alright, certainly not bad. The second is mediocre and the third is atrocious. It can happen when writing poems though - you start with a pretty decent flash of inspiration and as you persevere it feels leaden because you're forcing it. I quite like that first verse. It could pass for Edward Thomas.

File: 1467236216875.png (28KB, 228x197px) Image search: [Google]

28KB, 228x197px

Adam sat winding Eve’s hair around his dark, dry digits. Their skin crawled and cracked with hellfire ash. Eve’s gaze, both devoid of anger, and in need of it, Shared its attention between the mouldy apple core beside them And the sky, which suddenly opened. Nauseatingly bright drops of gold pathed God’s way to his sullied young.
‘Help us!’ They cried, And for the sin of seeking knowledge He neglected them. ‘You ate the apple. Think of how that made me feel.’

>>8630581
That first verse is...well it's just fucking good.

>>8630596
>>8630611
you mean the first stanza

when you say the first verse you're only referring to the 1st line
fucking versefags

>>8630625
>prescriptivism
Hi Dave. How's hell?

Know some young niggas like to swang
Know some young niggas like to swang
Big bank take a little bank
Everyday spillin' up drank
She want the whole crew, shawty brave
When the money talks, what is there to say?
Blow away, watch it blow away
When I die can't take it to the grave
Hop out, drop, top, fuck y'all talkin' I need it right now
Cash in the air, yeah, what goes up gotta come down

>>8630596
>>8630611
imo way too pretentious in the ordinary romantic style

>My hands are cold;
>Hold my heart instead
you heart is wet
it quickly loses its heat outside of your chest
put it back
let us settle on holding your hands in mine

wait, now my hands are bloody
(:

>>8630637
>descriptivist scum

File: tumblr_m8edkhc38U1r2o9ai.jpg (26KB, 500x351px) Image search: [Google]

26KB, 500x351px

leg so hot
hot hot leg
leg so hot u fry an eg

You're a praline, you're Maybelline
I'm the Sistine, head full of steam.
You wait until I'm dead to celebrate my work
You wait until I'm dead because you're fucking jerks.

You know, I generally didn't write poetry as a teenager. I can only remember writing one poem during my entire high school career, and that was for class. I'll dig around in my old files and see if I can find it, but chances are reasonably high that it's lost forever.

>>8630944
No, I looked and it's gone. Must've deleted it during a clean-up years ago. I was terrible anyway.

>>8630566
>>8630566
Mfw I've never heard the expression "hover hands" and I do this.
Mfw what I think about miself reflects all my actions and body posture.

To arise in this epoch of beguilement!
A chapter in the grimoire of time,
Befouled by mankind’s avarice and crime.
Flip through the pages, surely dissent will flood,
To divulge that its every word, is dyed in crimson blood.
Suddenly the sky has lost its blue,
The world once radiant with colour, has become devoid of that too.
The world that erst seemed simple, in our foolish yet sanguine eyes,
Is now but an abyss of malice, miasmatic with torment and lies.
We struggle to make a change, often to find in vain,
That all will be evanescent, like our tears that fall in the rain.
Does hope still subsist till this day? Lurking inside Pandora’s box,
Or has it persihed too, to relief from human’s mocks?
If only our relinquished life, be a pristine and primordial dream,
How holy and blessed would we be, to unshackle from this callous regime!
Alas, I awake in anguish every night, to find my spirit imprisoned in blight,
This cacophony, tumult, realm of black and white,
Prithee, my dear! I ask mournfully of thee,
Will sanity ever reach its eclipse?
Prithee, my dear! I implore with all my soul of thee,
What is the medicine, for my melancholy?

In class they are so kind as to stare
at lunch they forget to care
it's all a cruel game
where no one bares shame
and it simply isn't fair