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My name is Holden Caulfield,
And I might just be a fool.
Picking fights and calling names,
Failing out of private school.

My house is my tombstone,
And killing time is killing me
Like the smoking cigarette
Perched between my teeth.

I'm trading my innocence
For a bottle of apathy
Because the harsh light of reality
Is beating down on me.

I'm so brain dead and bored,
I'm almost six feet in the ground.
Chasing after nothing at all,
A carousel spinning round and round.

I went on a small vacation
To avoid my fate by passing time.
Is idly watching life go by
A punishable crime?

A bunch of plans in my head,
but they're all half hearted.
I'm lacking a catalyst,
but the reaction never started.

I'm the leading actor
In my own theatrical tragedy.
Should I just burn my script,
Instead of becoming a casualty?

I just want to be a kid again,
And put my problems on pause.
I'm fighting against growing up,
A martyr for a dying cause.

I call everyone a phony,
But the truth is still the same.
I'm a smart aleck feigning stupid,
With only himself to blame.
CK Baker Jan 2017
Thank you ~
for a life not to trade
blessings, in spades
tight spaces
behind laundry doors
packed closets
and open drawers
gator tails, tarnished brass
cracks in kitchen sliding glass
wet towels, withering plants
foundation filled
with carpenter ants
buckets piled with
shoes and tags
village clothes
and saddlebags
peeling paint
and broken walls
****** seats
in bathroom stalls
clogged pantry
frigid rooms
table scribe
and carbon fumes
comfort capsules
empty tanks
broken limbs
from children’s pranks
**** finger
double tongue
long goodbyes
and sidewalk dung
cluster flies
chavie’ clique
the hypocrite
cracked back
and hidden smiles
chalk on board
with mr miles
atomic wedgies
closing doors
wrotten eggs
and open sores
jaw jack
nasty folk
dinner calls
for pig in poke
penny pinchers
double dip
yellow mouth
and silver tip
brown nosers
thick red tape
paper cuts
and pimple nape
so out of norm
the joy of life
in basic form
Kurt Kanawa Jun 2014
climb out of the womb and be born
watch your limbs and fingers grow
let Them manufacture your soul
memorize and become a number

watch your limbs and fingers grow
set the neighborhood on fire
memorize and become a number
stare at the chains on your ankles

set the neighborhood on fire
rally your gods and your lovers
stare at the chains of your ankles
break free, run away

rally your gods and your lovers
let them manufacture your soul
break free, runaway
climb out of the womb and be born
there's a teenage riot in all of us.

— The End —