#tbt: Or, Prepubscent Poetry

I made a few promises to myself when I was younger:

1) Marry Peter Brady.  (So far, I have made very little progress.)

2) Become a Pokemon master.  (Working on it.)

3) Never stop writing.  (Well, I haven’t stopped yet.)

However, what “never ends” must at one point begin.  I’m sure all writers have their stash, hidden away or burned and covered in salt.  Yes, you know what I’m talking about.  The cringe-worthy, embarrassing, wholly god awful poetry/stories/fanfictions/home-spun literature of our youth.  It lurks in the tween angst, the first “love”s, and awkward seventh grade dances where you and your partner had to leave enough room for the Holy Ghost.

This post is the inaugural in a series of LRR “#tbt” posts.  For those who have an aversion to acronyms, this means “throwback Thursday.”  Normally, this hashtag is used when posting cute photos from when the poster was younger, more care-free, possibly chasing an ice cream truck.  We hope to unify the writers of UConn and beyond by sharing our most “wish-we-could-forget-this” pieces.  Whether this be middle school, freshman high school year, or the adventurous scribblings of your toddler self, this is the place to share it.

And, just to make sure that no awkwardness is spared, I will be sharing with you, humble reader, a glorious selfie I took on a disposable camera at age eleven.  Behold:


A face only a mother could love.  And now for some poetry that only a twelve year old could write!

They are all untitled, since my masterpieces were far too stunningly brilliant to be confined to something as paltry as titles.


Do I deserve to be deemed beautiful?
Anything at all to curb my appatite for interaction.
Am I thin?
A big fatty?
I won’t know until you tell me.
Explain to me what you see.
Be honest, brutally, painfully, honest.
Tell me who I am.
My mirrors are all broken
I can’t declare myself anything.
Simply because of the fear of being wrong.
Afraid of stepping on toes
That’s quite easy to do with size 13 shoe.
I want you to mold me
That doesn’t mean I become what you want
I won’t throw myself into the kiln unless I’m sure
I’m not quite sure about what I’ll be sure about
But I bet I’ll know when the time comes
That you’ll be making the first move
Never me
My giant feet won’t allow it

[Oh my…next up:]

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to chase you off
I have no idea what that means
Do you?
And they’re all far too witty
I shouldn’t be jealous
I don’t have the right to be jealous
But I am
I shouldn’t feel hurt
I don’t have the fight to feel hurt
But I do.
I can only wish it hasn’t changed
I think we have drifted apart
But were we ever together?
I want that back
Us back
This isn’t a chase if we don’t walk away

[Can’t you just feel the Hawthorne Heights emotions bleeding on through?  Last one:]

I could feel your hot, rattled breath on my neck
It stung the hairs
Your hands on my back, feeling me
They burned
I could see your face
I was staring into the sun
Whispered sweet nothings in my ear
I only heard nails down a chalkboard
Your water splashed into my acid
We clashed
A puzzle piece from the wrong set
You’ll never fit in
You were forced, not loved
So sad
You wanted to have me
You only retrieved my pity
My condolences
Puppy dog eyes just make me sick
Groveling will get you no where except out the door
My nightmares are filled with our romance
The stuff of your dreams
I shouldn’t have meant so much to you
Until I realized
I was the one groveling
I was the one on my knees begging for you
You’re not the one who didn’t deserve me
I never deserved you
How could I have been so blind?
I denied it and denied it until I became it
I knew the truth would hurt
But hurts as bad as the collar choking my neck as I try to form “I loved you”

Keep in mind, this is all coming from a girl who had a crush on James from Team Rocket.

Phew.  If you enjoyed this, don’t worry, there will be plenty more mortifying objet d’art coming from us.

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