Have you seen the troubled youth these days?
They're not very troubled at all.
They create their own illness then spread it amongst the masses of degenerates.
The symptoms consist of debauchery and disrespect.
They yell to the crowd, "Look at me for I am broken."
No. You are fixed...fixed onto the idea that one must be troubled to be different.
Oh, have you seen the troubled youth of today?
They're not so troubled after all.
as personal gro
wth.If you want
to hear the pitte
r - patter of littl
e feet, I'll put s
hoes on my cat.
This isn't an off
ice , it's hell wit
h florescent lig
hting.How do I
set a lazer prin
ter to stun? I m
ajored in Libera
l arts. Will that
be for here or t
o go? Too many
freaks, not eno
ugh circuses. I
have a comput
er, a vibrator a
nd pizza delive
ry .Why should
I leave the hou
se? Stress is wh en you wake up scr
eaming and you re alize you haven't fal
len asleep yet. I like dogs too. Let's exch
ange recipes. And yo u r c r y b a b y
whiny- assed o pinion is? Al low me to intr oduce my selves.
'It’s the shoes I noticed first', you tell me
fabric and rubber worn-down by too much love
remnants of favorite memories stained into the sides
‘It’s how they changed’, you explain
One day to the next
Flat and easy to Amazonian heights and ankle breakers
‘They are full of surprises’, you say
Just like you
My cheeks flush pink
‘I like that’, you tell me
I wonder, what kind of guy notices a girl’s shoes?
You wait for me to accept the compliment
Instead I roll my eyes
And you see in me a common ally
Choosing a series a words for a ditty,
Those we first pluck a few at a time.
For readers it will, at first, seem so pretty
When they detect that rhythm and rhyme.
But soon, I suggest, it becomes such a chore,
When words strung together do pose
An oft-trodden pattern or insipid score
That bounces and sings as it goes.
The message conveyed in this rigid frame,
Is lesser I fear than than when we escape
From words chosen for just ending the same
Or some fortuitous fit to that shape.
So I tend to lean towards using blank form,
For verses I build by the letter,
And chose the words that I feel will conform
To that which my heart says are better.
(Young man in dressing gown enters room, sees a man also in dressing gown in front of laptop, glasses on.)
Erm... give us a clue?
I can't, you'll get it straight away.
OK, is it to do with the football?
The weather, it's raining aga-
Umm... I guess her?
There's something online?
Well, yes, keep going.
I presume the usual.
You know, Saturday nights and she...
Yep, you are thinking what I'm thinking.
Oh, that is a surprise!
I know, I did say at the start...
(Man in front of laptop checks to make sure if it is true or not. Indeed it is. Groans and looks up to see there is no one else in the room with him.)
Explanation: To be honest, not sure if this even is a poem. Written in my own time.