My teen angst was dressed in all plaid shirts and torn bleach washed jeans,
blasting Radiohead and The Cranberries from my stereo machine.
applying thick black makeup to draw attention to my eyes
and sporting ankle high Doc Martins,
sneaking beers with older guys.
my favorite lyrics, another antic of a zero,
inking the walls of bathroom stalls with “I’m a freak, yeah I’m a weirdo.”
I’d sing my plights admitting wounds too deep to heal;
I would complain on just how miniscule my life would make me feel.
felt like all my hatred held permanence and was isolated just to me,
so I would sneak out, then I’d freak out; end up screamingly angrily.
mood swings so swift and taxing, I soon found myself alone,
my friends were nowhere near around, pressured to find peace on my own.
It was in
a time of silence, self discovery would win
the needed prize of ended angst and comfort within my own skin.