Teenagers and Drama Queens

Teenagers of both sexes can be such drama queens –  I remember how important and raw and overwhelming EVERYTHING seemed back in those years. The hates, the loves, the passions were all so much more immediate and colourful! So, my thirteen year old has only just become a teenager but is displaying all of these strong feelings. Or rather, the feelings are often getting the better of him.

This sometimes leads to some amusing situations, such as when he is required to write a poem for his French class on the subject of melancholy. His efforts seemed to me worthy of a bloodthirsty and world-weary Baudelaire:

Mélancolie

Dans la ville c’est bientôt le soir.
Mélancolie, la bile noire,
seule la tristesse comme émotion.
Tout le monde est donc en dépression.

Un autre homme tombe mort
Il faudra enterrer son corps
Le cimetière est déjà plein.
Voilà la fin de mon refrain.

English translation (sadly, without the sound effects they were required to create):

The city soon turns to dusk.
Melancholy, that black bead,
sadness the only emotion.
Everyone is in deep depression.

Another body falling down.
We’ll have to bury his corpse.
The cemetery is already full.
And that’s the end of my refrain/song!

Messy teenage bedroom, from alamy.com
Messy teenage bedroom, from alamy.com

And now that my internet connection appears to have come back (hush, softly, I don’t want to jinx it!), I’ve been enjoying the #Teensin5words hashtag. Some of them will resonate with many of us, whether we are currently parenting teens or not:

Stomp stomp stomp stomp SLAM!

You were never my age!

Shut up! I know everything!

Too late for Plan B.

I’m linking this up to Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub, although it is not really my poem. But it’s a good way to end a horrendous week (or two, or three) without internet or phone, after not being able to read any of the wonderful poems there!

 

Letter from the Future

I wish I could tell you it’s all sunshine.

But you’d never believe or take joy in that.

You need cloud cover to hide the pockmarks on your path.

 

You should be here.

 

You should see

how all you feared came to pass

 

and you lived anyway.

 

How lessons took too long to be learnt

smarted with salt-rub on blistered skin

then washed in emulsion of sepia tints.

 

You should if you could…

but you wouldn’t and you won’t…

keep your eyes unfocused, looking beyond the prize,

capture all the slapdash details

which add up to a beautiful life.

P1020258

 

Over at dVerse Poets Pub tonight, we are imagining receiving a letter or poem from our future self. What will we know/have learnt/be willing to share? What does the future look like?