old crappy poetry of the soul, or, i'm still the same old nerd i was in high school

On a dare, I promised a couple of my girlfriends to brazenly post some poetry from my high school and post-high school days, when I was brooding with nowhere to go. This was primarily done to prove to them just how bad that poetry was, even by the standards of my more recent writing. And so you've been warned. I give you...Old Crappy Poetry of the Soul. By Teri Messec.

Birthday

(written for my friend Rachel Espinoza on...what else...her birthday.)

1997

One more year

Tucked somewhere

Under the belt of your life--

Telling without words

All that your eyes have seen,

That your heart has known.

Joyful days that have danced

Their way through your life

Sing now upon their exit,

Granting you mirth

On this bright day.

(Note to self: Eliminate the words "upon" and "mirth" from vocabulary for eternity.)

Chaos

(written on some random day a few months before I met my husband, when I was feeling really, well, chaotic in my life.)

1997

Swallowed whole;

Seasons of disjustice

Force me

From timeless dreamings

And larger hope.

In that blackness

I swim,

Straining towards Reason

But caught in the deluge

of Chaos.

Insomniac

(written after one of my many sleepless nights in 1996, when I thought, because I was too tired not to, that I was really, terribly clever.)

1996

Sleep came not for me last night---

Sleep and me, we had a fight;

Oh, t'was a struggle sleeping tight,

For sleep came not for me last night.

(har har har, snort, har har...)

Pantothenic Rage

(Written in '96, when I was 19, with 2-foot-hair, trying to grow my bangs out like a hippie.)

1996

I have these episodes,

This pantothenic rage

Flares within.

My mind,

In utter anger,

Screams--

A single thought;

I HATE MY HAIR!

To Self

(Written in 1995, just a few days before I graduated high school. This is one of those "Dear Me-of-the-Future" poems. Eerily salient, even 17 years later.)

1995

I've lived with you all these years,

Through your hours of sorrow,

your days of ineptness.

I've seen you gazing, tearful, at your angry mirrors,

While you silently cried at your self.

I've seen your agony

At being shunned by the world--by your self.

I've seen you mock yourself, scoff at your self,

Hurl hurt at your self.

And I've seen you look sadly back at your self,

Wanting so

Just to love yourself.

Empathy

(Written in the big middle of my lustyangst for Ireland, when I was sure I'd die if I wasn't borne straightaway to the Emerald Isle. I'm still trying to get there and this poem is just as sillily true as it was the day I wrote it. I had met Christopher by this point, and was flirting with the idea of marrying this dude. This explains why this poem isn't as horridly black as the ones from 3 months prior.)

1997

I see through my mind's eye

A picture tainted

With the sweet poison of empathy

And yet I am taken

By that utopic scene

And puzzled

At my indescretion.

Sing with Me at Daybreak

(Written for my little brother Matthew, who was probably 11 at the time, on one of those rare days when I actually woke up before 10:30 and discovered that the morning was amazing--so amazing that it was killing me to let the little rascal sleep instead of hanging out with me on the front porch watching me shiver and write bad poetry to the sunrise. Poor kid.)

1997

Sing with me at daybreak,

Quiet sleeping one--

You who paint the dreams

Inside your slumbering head,

Wake with me and feel

The quiet of morning,

The glory of dawn.

Slip the bonds of hallowed sleep

And find the sunrise

Creeping over the night--

Magic is deeper at daybreak,

Oh slumbering child.

Sleep no more--

Wake to the miracle

And sing with me at daybreak.

(note to self: abolish the words "oh", "slumbering", and "sing" from not only your own vocabulary for eternity, but also see about having them legally banned from the English language, as well.)

So that's a taste. Gagging yet? I'm pretty sure I win the bet.

--Teri.