The other night I was standing outside my front door to let my dogs out and I overheard two boys, probably about 15 years old, having a chat as they shuffled down the street. They were so excited and trying so hard to be cool I thought they were going to burst into flames.
Let me set the stage for you:
They were floppy in the way horribly uncomfortable teenage boys are floppy. Their pants were floppy, their hair was floppy, their posture was floppy, even their knees were floppy and their zinging, raging and exhausting hormones WERE MESSING UP THEIR ABILITY TO WALK STRAIGHT. After watching them (oh my GOD, am I now that weird adult who PEERS at people walking by??? ACK!), I know why some teenagers seem like they are going to fall asleep when they are talking to you... when they are standing up... in the middle of eating a sandwich:
THEY DON'T HAVE THE ENERGY.
Would you be able to pick up your feet if you were accosted EVERY MINUTE by enough hormones to fuel populating a small country?
This was their conversation:
Gangly Kid #1: "Oh my god. That was so cool."
Gangly Kid #2: "Yeah."
Gangly Kid #1: "Seriously, we have GOT to go to more protests."
(Editors note: I believe there was an arts protest going on in the area. ARTS. Please keep that in mind with the next couple of lines.)Gangly Kid #2: "Yeah."
Gangly Kid #1: "Dude, there were just, there were just so many HOT CHICKS, dude! THAT is where you find them!"
And I stopped listening right there, because really, what else was there to hear? Really? Males completely disregarding the context of a situation and using it to SCOUT OUT BABES?
HOW ORIGINAL. And they start out so YOUNG!
I've got to give it to you, teenage girls of the world: I would never ever ever ever evereverevereverever want to have a do-over with high school! Braces with that god-awful wax packed into the spokes, and glasses I didn't want to wear because I thought they looked dorky so I walked around BLIND most of the time- BEGONE! Ugh. And the zits. And having to go to gym class (WHY did I hate that so much? I go to the gym now more or less (mostly less) willingly now, WHAT was my problem?). And the angst? OH the angst. I believe I once wrote a poem (or 50) that went something like this:
Oh it was so horrible and bad.
So, horrible oh the suffering- whoa!
Pain, pain, pain... I feel like my guts are pouring out of my heart,
My only answer will be in the pain and how much my parents are trying to destroy my life. Or something like that.
I read somewhere that if you want to make it in the poetry biz you've got to do it in your teens/early 20's. Apparently those years are the only ones that produce enough AGONY to be marketable. Fair enough! "...my guts are pouring out of my heart..." that's some good stuff right there.
Poetry publishing houses of the world? I've got REAMS of tortured foolscap for your selling pleasure!
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