Old poetry from the bed underworld

In the underworld of my bed inside my mother’s house centered in the middle of nowhere Iowa, I found my hand-written counseling of my teenage years. I found too many obsessive first boyfriend lines, as well as complaints from bad days. Tear stains circled in blue pen to always remember the mood of my writing experiences are visible. Dedications follow the byline and dateline. Let me just recap my teenage years: AHHHHHHHH, cry cry cry, confused, crazed outrages, overly happy about new boyfriend, suicidal after the break up, and finally it wraps up with relying on my pen instead of people to get through tough times. This was my first dependency on the written word for my stability. I’ve weaned off pens and moved to a keyboard now and my craziness has simmered down and I don’t cry over worthless men anymore. Here are three poems from those years that sort of describe me still. (I also was editing as I was rereading these. I had HORRIBLE grammar back then!)

Teenage poetry I've written

My Only True Friend

by Jennifer Dryden

Date: 1/10/02  (age: 15)

My only true friend

Will know me until the end

They already know me

They see the real me.

They know all my feelings

And heard me cry out loud

As I write my thoughts on paper

Then later it makes me feel proud.

I write to get things out

And when I read them it’s what my life’s about

This friend doesn’t lie

This friend never dies.

This friend stops me from death

And keeps me breathing every breath

This friend helps me through a lot

This friend doesn’t smoke pot.

This friend won’t ever let me down

This friend won’t let my secrets get around

This friend never makes me depressed

This friend makes me hurt less.

This friend isn’t a person

It’s something that doesn’t talk, but listens

This friend only moves at my demand

Because it’s in my right hand.

My only true friend is my pencil

Sometimes my pen

That writes my life down on paper

Where my life’s been.

That’s The Way I Want It To Be

by Jennifer Dryden

Date: 2003 (age: 16)

Babies crying in the nursery

That’s the way I want it to be

Bottles being washed at the sink

Babies dressed in pink.

Crawlers learning to walk

Toddlers starting to talk

Binkies laying on the floor

A sign that reads, “Baby Sleeping” on the door.

Little babies opening their eyes to see

That’s the way I want it to be

Dirty diapers in the trash

A baby’s bottom with a rash.

Kids that are happy

And love to see their grand-pappy

Great big hugs

Not dressing them like thugs.

Babies with a wide smile

And a cute sneeze once in a while

Kids who are called pee-wee

That’s the way I want it to be.

Toys all over the floor

And a reason for a secure door

Rattles that shake like crazy

And a life that’s not hazy.

A strong boy that can safely climb a tree

That’s the way I want it to be

A walker in the middle of the hall

And maybe even a doll.

A child playing make-believe

And a husband that won’t leave

Pink and blue little rooms

And kids one Power Wheels that zoom.

Baby food, homemade

A visit in the middle of the night that stayed

A toddler knowing their ABCs

That’s the way I want it to be.

All these things I want to hear

In a life that is clear

If I could have it my way.

I would have a reason to wake up every day.

I’ve Seen His Emotions

by: Jennifer Dryden

Date: 12/13/02 (age: 15)

I’ve seen him cry,

I’ve heard him wish to die.

I’ve noticed nervousness in his voice

He doesn’t have much choice.

I’ve felt his pain

I’ve seen his gain

He’s searching for a purpose

But he can’t reach the surface.

I’ve known his secrets

I’ve been there to see his fits

I’ve seen him smile

But it’s been quite a while.

I’ve tried so hard to be there

And have seen people sit and stare

I’ve been scared for him

And I know why he feels so dim.

I’ve talked to him

He’s so determined

I’ve seen him break down

I’ve memorized his frown.

I’ve seen him come to God

But seen him leave let down and mad

I’ve seen the depression

And he’s trying to make a good impression.

I’ve seen the real him

I haven’t been where he’s been

But I’ve felt the pain in my heart

With his pressure to make a new start.

I’ve seen the tears

And I’ve seen all his fears

He wants a break

He’s had all he can take.

Dedicated to: My brother Chad

Advertisements

2 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized

2 responses to “Old poetry from the bed underworld

  1. Reading old poetry is such an interesting thing to do. Sometimes I feel like a completely different person wrote the stuff I wrote a few years ago. I imagine you feel the same way — but then, some things remain the same over the years. Anyway, it was cool to get a peek into Jenn-from-years-past.

    • Thanks, Jessie. Yeah, tons and tons have changed and some I contemplated ripping up and pitching. But it is my past and it did save my life back then, so it has a special place in my heart. But it is fun to reread things like that. ha! 😀

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s