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AAron Roz Jul 2018
Have you ever done something illegal?
I have.
I've smoked underaged,
drank underaged,
drove without a license,
drove without insurance,
sped,
*** underaged,
almost anything underaged.
AJ Cox Apr 2012
YOU aint no gangsta.
With a pistol grip pump.
******* underaged girls
For money to buy junk.
You’re a player for sure.
Playin with minds of children is easy.
Capitalist pigs like you make me queasy.  
You smashin the man?
Youre jackin off to the sounds of the system,
Beatboxin records while the ignorant minds listen.
To illusions of grandeur…
Your caddy rims rollin.
All the while corporations controllin
Your mind.
YOU aint no gangsta
With a pistol grip pump.
youre just a ****. *****-average guy
Walking a racial divide
Elitist **** telling another whitemans lie.
To the masses of laborers.
Buyin what you be sellin
Your  notions of success
Aint my version of rebellin.
Trust is a limited currency
For those who have wronged us,
And the wall subconsciously built
In a day, can only be taken a part
Brick by brick,

But those who speak
For the force unheard,
Only proven to exist in a feeling
Or in the passed down book,
I think, are given too much credit.

Speaking for that which cannot speak for itself
Inherently is wrong, yet these priests
We give our trust
Despite the controversy
They always bring up

Speaking for not the god
That those sitting there
Came to hear about,
But speaking for those
There sitting.

Swaying and advising
The path they take and what direction
And nodding heads,
And right hands pointed to the sky
Tell you nobody pays much attention.

For a priest
Who preaches abstinence
And practices excess
On the underaged sons,
Open your eyes.

That stage shouldn’t be upheld
By one who sways people
Against one another,
But with the bible in the right context,
Anything could be directed towards anyone.

Limit your currency of trust
For those who prove
They deserve it,
The church can heal,
But my, oh my, can the pasture bleat.
47 lines, 233 days left.
Oh,
The places I have gone,
Into the gutter onto the street,
Regurgitated,
Every fiber,
Of my uneven being,
A little yin,
A lot of yang,
And the realization,
Of the cost of "freedom",
Is security,
And the lies swept under the rug,
Therein.

Where do I go?
In this world I do not fit within,
It suits me not,
Too corporeal, too moralistic,
Too judging, and a little bit too thin.

Always finding reasons,
To opress other human beings,
Even in democracy,
The masses lurk,
Judging, what is good men.
The young are chained,
Binded by systems and laws,
Signed to social contracts,
They didnt ask for,
and most will never understand.

All in the great,
revolutionary idea!
Oh, yes, as they will tell you with a smile,
You can be anything you want to be!
(If you get a 4.0)
You can love freely!
(Except gays and underaged)
And women let me tell you,
Yes how to get an abortion,
And when!

Always distinguishing,
Classifying people,
Alpha and beta,
And whatever else in bygone alphabets,
We are social animals,
Civilized only in lies.
And all men are not created equal!
Some are born to die.
We laugh in the face of this evil,
Because we cannot control our own existence,
And the only other option is to cry,
And self annihilate.
Of course, to the world,
This is so very wrong.
Such a crazy guy.

There is no freedom I say.
Only the mirror image,
The perception of such,
We make our own choices,
Sure,
Pre ordained by our genetics,
Our expereinces, our cultures,
The boxes of our very thoughts,
Ergo the very essence of who we are,
For if we were different,
We would go left,
And not right,
into the very clutches of Satan,
The demons men swear by.

I've got nothing nice to say,
Or contribute to society,
So I oft think,
I'd best stay silent,
And censure myself away,
I hurt my friends,
My family my loved ones,
And add onto the suffering list,
Still knowing the worst I got,
is better than a lot of men.

So, alas,
Mi amore,
I have a lie to say,
If you but love me,
Oh just one night,
I will love you,
Forevermore.
THE ALLAN FAMILY FUN DAY AT THE SPORTS


YA SEE, WE HAD FUN GOING  TO RAIDERS BACK WHEN THEIR HOME GAMES WAS

AT SEIFFERT OVAL IN QUEANBEYAN, WITH MY MATE LYLE, FRANK AND PAT

AND WE CUT OUR LUNCHES AND PACKED OUR BAGS, GOT OUR FLAGS READY

WITH JUMPERS JUST IN CASE WE GOT COLD, AND OFF TO THE FOOTY WE GO

AND WE YELLED OUT RAIDERS CLAP CLAP CLAP RAIDERS CLAP CLAP CLAP

EVEN IF THEY **** OR NOT, WE STILL BARRACKED FOR THE RAIDERS

WE YELLED OUT

RAIDERS CLAP CLAP CLAP RAIDERS CLAP CLAP CLAP RAIDERS CLAP CLAP CLAP

AND LYLE YELLED BLUE ****** AT THE REFEREE

AND THE LADY BEHIND SAID, CAN YA QUIETEN YA LANGUAGE, THERE IS A LITTLE GIRL HERE

LYLE GOT CRANKY, DUDE AND THEN WE CHEERED OUT

RAIDERS CLAP CLAP CLAP  RAIDERS CLAP CLAP CLAP RAIDERS CLAP CLAP CLAP

AS THE RAIDERS RUN ON ME AND LYLE, YELLED, GO, GO, GO, GO GO GO

AND AS THE RAIDERS SCORED, ME AND LYLE JUMPED UP AND CHEERED, YIPPEE I AY

WE CHEERED GET PFF HIM YA ****** OPPOSITION PLAYER

OR I WILL TAKE YOU TO THE ****** ESTABLISHORY COURT

ME AND PAT, SAID, WHAT THE **** IS AN ESTABLISERY COURT, ANYWAY

WE BROUGHT OUR RADIOS, SO WE CAN HEAR THE STUPID COOMENTATORS

HARTLEY AND PETERS, MAKE FUN OF EACH OTHER

WE WATCHED ALL 3 GRADES, BUDDY

TEASING ONE ANOTHER AS WE GO ABOUT OUR DUTIES OF CHEERING

RAIDERS CLAP CLAP CLAP RAIDERS CLAP CLAP CLAP  RAIDERS CLAP CLAP CLAP

AND WE HAD FUN TEASING ONE ANOTHER

I WAS THE IMAGINATION KING, AND ME AND LYLE ALSO WENT TO

THE CHEER FOR THE BELCONNEN MAGPIES WITH OUR BLACK AND WHITE STREAMERS

AND I CHEERED LOUDLY AND A LADY SAID, WOULD YOU PLEASE SHUT UP

I SAID NEH,  WHY SHOULD I LAD, IT’S A PRBLIC PLACE THIS FOOTY GROUND

AND AT THE CANBERRA COSTAIN CAT MATCH, I YELLED OUT COME ON *****’S

MEANING I WANT THE **** CCHHERGIRLS TO COME OUT

BUT THIS MAN THOUGHT I MEANT ***** CATS, AND SAID SHUT UP IDIOT

LYLE SAID, DON’T WORRY, IF YA WANT TO CHEER THE CHEERLEADERS ON WITH SOME ***

GO FOR IT, TIGER, AND YOU SHOULD CHEER FOR YOUR TEAM AS MUCH AS YA WANT

ME AND LYLE ALSO TOOK CARLA AND HER BROTHER CHRIS TO THE CANNONS

AND WE YELL OUT, CANNONS CLAP CLAP CLAP CANNONS CLAP CLAP CLAP CANNONS CLAP CLAP CLAP

AND EVERY BASKET, LYLE YELLED OUT, A BIG, HOOOORAHHHH

AND ANOTHER CHEER WENT LIKE THIS

HERE WE GO CANNONS, HERE WE GO, CLAP CLAP

HERE WE GO CANNONS HERE WE GO CLAP CLAP

HERE WE GO CANNONS HERE WE GO CLAP CLAP

AND WE RAN OUT AFTER THE CANNONS WON OR LOST ON TO THE COURT, TO HAVE A FEW SHOTS AT THE BASKET

I REMEMBER, I BECAME VERY POPULAR GOING TO SPORTS EVENTS, LIKE THIS

OUR RAID BASKETBALL WENT ONTO THE FIELD ONE DAY

AND THERE WAS A FINAL ON, AND ME, LYLE AND CARLA WAS IN THE SAME ROW

BECAUSE, THE SEATS, WERE SOLD, LYLE’S MUM SAID

BRIAN IS BEING FUNNY, HE IS PLAYING A JOKE ON YOU

BUT IF LYLE WANTS TO TEASE LIKE THAT WITH HIS FAMILY, I DON’T WANT HIS MATESHIP INTO ADULT HOOD

AND ME AND LYLE HAD A FALLING OUT, LYLE SHIPPED OFF TO SALE,

CANNONS ARE NO MORE

RAIDERS GRAND FINAL IS NO MORE

LYLE’S FRIENDSHIP IS NO MORE

OH YEAH IT SEEMS TO GO, YA DON’T KNOW WHAT YA HAD TILL IT’S GONE

YA SEE WITH PARADISE, WE ENDED THESE STUPID MATES

ALL BECAUSE OF A MISTAKE IN 1990, ON GRAND FINAL DAY

I ALWAYS REMEMBERED PLAYING BASKETBALL AND WODEN AND HAVING A DRINK IN THE CLUB AFTERWARDS

IT WAS RADICALLY AWESOME DUDES

I WAS UNDERAGED, BUT I STUCK WITH JUICE

I REMEMBER PAT ORGANISED THIS BIG BBQ IN HIS FLAT

WITH EVERYONE FROM BASKETBALL

AND WE ALL HAD SO MUCH FUN

THANK YOU PATRICK AND LYLE

FOR LETTING ME HAVE MY WONDERFUL LIFE

THANKS DUDES
mercy christina Feb 2016
sometimes i wonder
am i lonely
or am i just alone

i ponder on this as I poison myself with more alcohol
and stumble across the busy streets filled with people looking for temporary pleasure.

cheap alcohol and ****** music
lonely old men that'd be slapping those shrinking ***** againsts an asian ***** later in the night
underaged kids addicted to the revolting taste of luxury with their parents money

i am a disgusting hypocrite for i live for nothing except cheap thrills and writing.
miranda schooler Mar 2014
The pavement glistens with it’s new top coat of shiny rain and she is driving back to school; back to too much noise and too many faces. I don’t want to go. I would give anything not to go. It happens then. I hear the impact first: metal pushing and crunching upon and into itself. The windshield gets closer and closer and in this moment it reminds me of a first kiss, but glass is inexperienced and uses too much tongue. I think I hear her say something. I am praying that she says something. She asks me if I’m okay. I feel dead and cold, and underaged corpse in the passengers’ seat. I say nothing. I hear her get out of the car to check on the woman who is screaming in the driver’s seat of her smashed vehicle. I feel warmth down my face that I assume are unwelcome tears, and open my frightened eyes to red. Red. And all I can think is ‘why have I not cried blood before?’ I open my mouth to say something, but end up tasting death. I blink my eyes more times than I need to. The windshield is cracked. She comes back to the car and keeps saying my name; a question. “Miranda? Miranda? Miranda?” the words I’m sorry cannot escape my mouth fast enough. The panic in her voice is undeniable. “Miranda? I’m calling the police sweetie, okay?” “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be sorry, it’s going to be okay.” “I’m so sorry Allison.” I can hear blood rushing from my head like Niagra Falls and I cup my hands to catch it. There is so much of it and it is burning my fingertips and all I can say is “I’m sorry.” I’m trying not to think of god right now, but I can’t help it. I will never capitalize that word again. I can hear her ask me questions that I forget as soon as they reach the beating drums of my ears, but I am guessing I answer them. She talked to 9-1-1 for days, months. I kept crying. I kept saying “I’m sorry.” When I closed my eyes everything happened backwards. Eve put the apple back on the branch. The tree shrank back into the ground. god said let there be light… and there was darkness. The pool of blood in my teacup hands grew more and more full when my door opened. I remember trying to get out on my own; I remember trying to run away. The officer told me to settle down and to not move and that everything would be just fine and that they were going to put me on a gurney and asked if my neck or back hurt or if I was seeing spots and what my address was and when my birthday was and other things and other things and other things. I dropped the blood and it flowed over my pants and my insides were on the outside and I couldn’t breathe. They placed my shaking skeleton into their ambulance. I had never felt so dead in my life. I went into shock. I only breathed when they reminded me to. I felt sick to my stomach; I felt drunk. The old man sitting in the back of the ambulance kept telling me to breathe. Kept telling me that everything would be fine. “I’m sorry.” “Sweetheart just try to steady your breathing. We’ll be at the hospital soon.” “I’m sorry.” “What’s your name sweetie?” “I’m sorry.” My head is feeling lighter and lighter and I can hear my heart slow in my ears. I see him writing on a clipboard and I hope he is writing Sorry, I’m. I want to be defined by my mistakes. Every speed bump we hit feels like Hurricane Katrina. He tells me to let him know if anything hurts. I want to tell him my heart hurts; that when we arrive at the hospital my mother will most likely be 10 minutes late, and my father will not be there at all. I want to tell him to not let them pray for me. I want to tell him that I’ve bled before, but not this much, and that the day before when I whispered to the heavens that I would give anything to take my last breath, that I didn’t mean it. That the intersection of Western Row and Kings Island Drive would become my gravestone.

The rest is blurred from 3 shots of morphine and the effects of shock. I still shake when my mom doesn’t stop far away enough from the cars in front of us. I still feel trapped when my car door won’t open. I am still sorry.
LJ Chaplin Jul 2013
***** dreams from magazines,
Filthy ***** and no other rules,
A generation who are out of luck,
But we don't care, no we don't give a ****.
Concentrating on identity,
Make-up bags and vanity,
Liquor bottles on the floor,
But we'll do it again because we want more.

Drug scares, alcohol,
red lights, fancy cars,
Money, what's that for?
We are living a lie,
We are living a lie.

Cigarettes, twenty in a pack,
Jack Daniels cooling in a glass,
Bad behaviour, that's how we do,
Give us a warning, we'll be laughing at you.
Late night movies, Triple X,
Red lipstick smudges on the neck,
Fifty pound notes scattered on the floor,
But we won't pick them up because we don't want them no more.

ASBO's, misbehaved,
Cop cars, underaged,
Manners, what are they?
We're the bad teens in town,
We're the bad teens in town.
Sorry if it is a little intense. Inspired by the song Saturday Night by Natalia Kills :)
I see this city for what it is, Hung over from a drunk night of love and thizz, The scores of underaged mental ******, This city has its dope game sores, The blinking lights of dreams that may never be, And the burnt out saints singing of their misery, The deaf musicians holding for glory days, And quiet actors lips singing future unknown plays, And all the intellects and jocks are buying memories from the street on 4th, As we all look up with longing in the shadow of mount in north Painters obnoxiously using pastels made of broken hearts and deep cuts, While boozed up geniuses look with hope at their pile of cigarette butts, As we all hope for something more, We fail to smile at the witty and ugly *****, The failed nights of that fall cold, And the shyest writers with pros of mindsets that have forever danced away the feeling of bold, We all look up with longing in the shadow of the mount in the north, As we all put down our hands,
And fold.
Still too lazy to rewrite from Facebook, hopefully the formatting doesn't take away from it..
Dorothy A Nov 2009
Child, woman.
Wise, innocent.
Stained from the past
with blood of the ages,
generations make their nations
out of common DNA.

Slipping slowly
is my memory of youth.
Not forever forgotten,
but the little girl inside
is like an apparition,
who has tried to go away
for good.
I yearn for the newness she once had,
and I wonder if I'll ever
know her again.

Paradoxical chimes
on the ticking clock
fog my yesterday
and alarm my tomorrow.
Memories are like a sun-setting dusk,
some at peace, some not.
The future and I never met
But I want to race there to meet it
and not in foolishness pass by today.

Not underaged,
not a wise, old sage,
I'm a half-breed to both
Thirtysomething.
Stuck in the middle.
Wading waist deep in exasperation
waiting to fly,
to fly higher and higher,
regretting that I did not fly that far.
But I cannot turn this watch inside out,
I cannot turn back time.
Can I accept that?

I'm half brave,
half afraid.
I'm part greedy,
part giving.
I want to be part
of the whole picture
of the puzzle...
but I'm holding back
the missing piece.

Child, woman.
I'm a tree splintered in two directions,
and after much inspection,
I wonder...

Which one will I be?
Annie McLaughlin Mar 2016
You don't seem to understand
You can't just down the whole bottle and ask for my hand
You don't seem to get the picture
You can't just swallow this poision and add me into the mixture
You don't seem to comprehend
That you're just buying these lies
Even though my faith is on the other end
You don't seem to really care
That you're underaged for such things
As long as they bid you (and only you) fair
kirk Apr 2019
Way back in my younger days, I joined the male voice choir
I was unaware of lurking gents, or **** men for hire
Praying on the innocent, might invoke brimstone and fire
Old and dark back passage ways, are not what I desire

There were boys and there were men, all singing at Saint Mary's
What I didn't realise is, ****** orientation sometimes varies
Just how many church goers, are gay high flying fairies
I didn't know I was amongst, a bunch of Julian Clary's

I may not be religious, I only came along to sing
And participate in ceremonies, and to hear the church bells ring
Gay gentleman I did not expect, I did not suspect a thing
Particularly the disgusting type, that want to slip you Black Pudding

I like a nice hot chocolate, but your type I do not search
Should you be in a religious place, like Saint Mary's church ?
Ogling all the younger boys, sat behind them on your perch
Your singing is a false front, because your just on the lurch

It creeps me out to even think, your in a house of god
The only thing your worshiping, is young arses to sod
Underage *** is blasphemy, but you don't think that is od
Your willing to commit sinful acts, to satisfy your stinking rod

Innocence gives you an excuse, and your sense to stalk and pray
You invited me for a coffee, I didn't realise you were gay
I saw you in White Lion Walk, and you lead my astray
What happened to the coffee shop, cos it wasn't far away

I ended up at your flat, not knowing you were bent
And you fancied a piece of ****, from an underaged pure gent
Because I like my coffee strong, didn't mean I was for rent
You came out in a dressing gown, and asked "are you confident"

I wasn't sure on what you meant, I know I was naive
You had nothing on except your gown,  and something up your sleeve
My comfort zone was compromised, and I wanted bad to leave
I'm not into male on male, it makes me want to heave

Could I have read the signs wrong, are you just being camp
Maybe your just friendly, and your don't want to clasp and clamp
Or stretch any of my sockets, or plug in your black lamp
It could be pretty dangerous, if your making dry things damp

The conversation took an unusual turn, I wish it was just babble
Mixing with the gay crowd, is not my kind of rabble
When I said "no" you then asked, "well surely don't you dabble"
I refuse to play your games, because your hardly into scrabble

I had to go once I knew, you was just a queer
You wanted to **** my ****, and take me up the rear
This is what I realised, so I left out of fear
Disappointed you may have been, but it's not the way I steer

You earned the name Black Dicky, it is just what you deserve
For you are so perverted, and By gum you've got a nerve
I am just a straight guy, I wont go the way you curve
The trouble is you try to persuade, the innocent to serve

I saw you some time later, in a toilet at the end
Peering over cubicles, but that's not the way I bend
Cottaging in public loos, well it is a gay mans trend
Walking out you even said, "I thought you was my friend"

Be careful in the White Lion Walk, the situation may turn sticky
A Black Man maybe waiting there, who isn't all that picky
Hanging around Saint Mary's church, he might try and grab a ******
Remember to tell this gentleman, "Please Go Away Black Dicky"
Based on actual events that took place in Banbury Oxfordshire

This is dedicated to Charlotte who suggested I write this poem
mademoiselle Mar 2015
3 am and we started pretending we were high because we were underaged.
You shared me your loveliest words.
I read your flowering poems.
I felt each word deep down and I pretended not to be emotional.
I felt special because you shared them to me first.
You taught me how to whisper to the cold winds of December.
You opened my eyes to the hope that I have lost,
You reminded me to dream the most unrealistic things.
... And that surreal starry night ended when my phone died and my eyes shut themselves.
Days dashed through their ways and time made its fate that I slept when you were awake.
I saw you sharing the same lovely words to other people.
I heard you saying your flowering poems to them.
I might be selfish... but for the first time, I felt like those words were only mine.
Maybe it was my fault that I slept through 3 am and you were awake until 5 am.
Still, I whisper to the coldest winds at night.
Still, I remember that night when we pretended to be high.
c Sep 2015
I'VE BEEN IN BED FOR FOUR DAYS.

it's not so much as i am too weak to get up and move it around.
it's just for the fact that i am alone.
i've taken myself on movie dates and brought two sodas, put my coat in the seat next to me and often times held my own hands while the movie played.
and every night i thought maybe each and every night would be different.
i've told strangers my secrets all because they told me i was pretty.

i've been in my bed for four days and between those days i slept with a man who wouldn't even hold my hair as i threw up apologies to my mother.
underage drinking isn't something that you should do but i've kissed more bottles than boys and a hangover hurts less than heartbreak.
i've watched the sun burn itself into ashes while telling the boy i knew since i was three that i'd never kiss him because he traded me for Lara Jean.
i've kissed cold lips, chapped lips but mostly underaged drunk lips and i pretended to be anyone else but my dim breathing self and still i was alone.
i expected fullness in a place that held the echoes of my mothers disappointment and all i ever got back was my own cracked voice.
all i ever got back was a strangers mouth and i always pretended that's what i always wanted.

i just never wanted to be alone.
me: writes this alone with the radio on low
Soeka laborde Apr 2018
Hell bent on a quest
With no map to call your guide
Searching far and wide
Asking questions you don't want answered
Looking for answers to questions you haven't asked
Rhetorical  questions and answers
Laced with fears.

The you'd say I'm 'complicated'
Well you've got to be out of your mind
For you have me underaged all this time
But, its not all 'black and white' as you'd say
I'm covered in shades of gray
Toxic yeti Dec 2018
You promised
A life in Bhutan
As lovers
I took your promise
As gospel

You promised
Me that
We would practice
Tantra
I took your promise
As gospel

Your promise
Me
That we would see the monasteries
As we traveled through
Your country
I took your promise
As gospel

Then I found out that you
Only like teenagers
And underaged girls
Well you can
**** your promises.
Silver Heinsaar Jan 2018
Bartender, so tall, so slender
Underaged, orders for lemonade
Cold and bubbly, and she, a goblin compared to his beauty
Abomination is the definition
Yet his eyes were fixed, slight cracks on the lips
Opened up, asking if it's to her liking,
"Delicious," She replied
Unexpected, a witty comment, telling she would taste even sweeter
Promises he would prove it after working hours
"Want to grasp an early adulthood?"
Rejection is not an option, the man had a charm unlike any other
Never questioned, didn't wonder why they've come into brothel
Though she was sober, a ****** not shaken by lust
Tears falling down as everything got taken
Still no courage to talk of it, still having nightmares haunting her
Taunting the foolish, her scars aching
Decicion to be made to revisit the bar
From afar, next to a familiar car
Tampered for an accident bound to happen
Shapes up while waiting for the unsuspected
Kind request for a ride, one you can't simply deny
Didn't recognize, no surprise, not his first time
The fine road where she once felt love, now displays her demise
New premises where she gets to sleep better, and that she does, forever.
Cedric McClester Nov 2019
By: Cedric McClester

With lots of forethought
And regal malice
Prince Andrew was kicked
Out of Buckingham Palace
For diddling underaged girls
Let’s call them Alice
Which the Queen deemed
To be unseemly and callous

See he became the best friend
Of a randy man
Who met a questionable end
A known *******
From way back when
Who surrounded himself
With girls little more than ten
He shared with Andrew now and then

So he’s been removed
From his royal duties
And he’s been reproved
Because mother’s snooty
And now due to the hand
That he’s been given
He’ll have to find another way
To make a living

So much for,
The life he knew
He’s got to wonder
What to do?
Now that his former
Life is through
He created for himself
A great big stew



        Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019.  All rights reserved.
Keya Oct 2019
We are teenagers and feel pressure to blend into society.
But society provides us a sheltered cage.
A place that we cannot escape.

As teenagers we create our own path but fail.
We are told that we have control over our own future but we are underaged.
Our lives seems far more horrific while we wonder alone.
We must choose whether to, be selfish, kind, brave, intelligent, or honest.

They say, “We must, think about our families. But also, we must think about ourselves”.
We fight to be our true self, we try to be unique and versatile.
We still have the power to define ourselves and be happy.

— The End —