Pinky Links

i was a prolific poet. ~.m. by maria b.
which Bronte sister am i?

which Brontë sister am i?

i am calling myself out right now. so, i just found a book of poetry from when i was a freshman in high school. and i am going to publish my work. warning: it might melt your face off with its awesomeness.

backstory: i was a pretty consistent journal-er throughout middle-school and high school. and at some point in eighth or ninth grade, i got myself a little green book in which i wrote poetry. i was apparently a very melodramatic teenage girl. despite my excellent grades, groups of friends, being on varsity soccer and cross-country and having a normal family life, i wrote very depressing poems. poems about being too scared to articulate my feelings for boys i was in love with and didn’t know i existed. i almost peed my pants when i read some of them to -Z-. she peed hers. here’s a taste of my remarkably deep and evocative prose.


Trying to decipher the

Cryptic message of testosterone

I can’t figure out a damn thing

out about boys and men. They’re

all so different, yet they are the

same mind. And they think

we’re complicated. Sure. I

just want to know if I

have a chance with Aaron,

but the only way is to get

the courage and look into

his eyes. This is my own

message to decipher.

i am so embarrassed. want more? 


I’m waiting for the

Courage to speak

To him.

Near him I get so


I don’t know what I’d

Say to him to strike up a 


I’m waiting to hear him

Say he feels the same about


Then we’ll see.

so, who would you compare my work to? Wordsworth? Frost? Poe? Keats? Kundera? Dickinson? Carroll? Emerson? Neruda? Homer?? Shakespeare?? be honest.

i can only hope that you find these as humorous as i do. and if you want more, there are plenty more where those came from. but it’ll cost ya.

feel free to share your own awkward teen years stories below. please.


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Now my shirt is stained with the hot goop that was my face.

Comment by ioncehadpartedhair

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