Awful Poetry – 05

0019 Storytime Two 01Among the odd phases I went through in my diaries and journals, like shortening all ing words to in‘, I’ve noticed that my handwriting changes with some regularity. Not just the differences and refinements that occur as a person progresses along the path from 12-years-old to 17-years old; but deliberate changes one might make in preparation for joining an International Forgery Ring or who’s coming down with a case of Dissociative Identity Disorder.

So when going through my collection of bad poetry, the occasional differences in penmanship didn’t strike me as anything too out of the ordinary. Bizarre and dorky? Absolutely. But out of character compared to the rest of my writing? Not at all.

But while trying to find a poem for today’s post that’s terrible enough to be funny, but not so humiliating I can’t yet bear to share it, I realized that the real reason for the handwriting difference in one of the poems is that I didn’t write it. Discovering the truth took a fair amount of sleuthing; and aside from the subject matter and writing style, a clue I missed at first glance is the actual author’s signature at the end of the poem.

Now, you can interpret that however you wish, but I consider it fairly strong evidence of the poet’s identity.

I’m sharing it because while I was suffering the excruciating pain of my first serious secret lesbian crush and cranking out cleverly disguised poetry (the disguise being a carefully crafted obviousness coupled with a complete lack of subtlety … one of those “hiding in plain sight” type deals) cursing the unfairness of our star-crossed love (technically, my love was probably the only star-crossed one since she wasn’t actually aware she even had a star in the situation), the object of my devotion and source of my torment, was writing poetry about some dumb boy she’d been dating.

I’m also sharing it because I like having tangible evidence that terrible teen poetry wasn’t exclusively my domain.

Whatcha gonna do Danny?
Whatcha gonna do?
Do ya know what your puttin me thru?

Your playin games now Danny,
Your playin us all for fools,
But oh how you do it soo cool.

Don’t ya realize your hurtin all of the ones ya say ya care for?
You may as well just kick us both right out the door.

Ya got ta make your decision Danny
And ya got ta do it quick
‘fore we’re both thinkin your just another prick.
Ya got ta do it fast Danny
‘fore we’re both in your past
and it’s your love that we’ll just cast.

Oh poor Danny, whatcha gonna do?
Sometimes ya look so blue
I know that your sorry
and ya know I am too,
But how much longer are we gonna have to pay,
‘fore you decide your too tired to play?

Your time is runnin out
Deciete just isn’t your game
and you and I both know
it ain’t no way ta gain.

Whatcha gonna do Danny?
Whatcha gonna do?
You do know what your puttin me through!
I can’t put all the blame on you
But don’t ya know ya can’t have your cake and eat it too!

This entry was posted in Awful Poetry, Humor, Lesbian, Terribly Earnest and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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