 I begin by saying:
You were right.
When you suggested
I was looking for some feeling
that wasn't to be found
except for in the pages
& poetry of ages.
All that teenage fury.
I hope you wrote that down.
I admit that
at the start it shook me.
I confess, it took me
several months of fury
to burn that city down.
But now that I am older
my blood seems to run colder
& I don't get that feeling
when you are around.
In its stead, I have steady hands,
In its place, I am making plans.
In the space where I used to spit & scream,
there is measurement of temperament.
I cultivate my teenage dreams.
So again, into the fray.
Again, go see you play.
Again, just drum & bass.
Again, your perfect face.
But I don't care about the future,
& all I can say to you is:
I don't want to hurt you.
&, I don't think that you do
want for me to search you
for your teenage fury.
Now that we are grown.
So it stands, a monument.
Still there.
The same thing, self aware.
Just shadows in the dark.
My favourite work of art.
I think it's finished -
shall we hang it in the gallery?
All that teenage fury
of my very own.
of my very own.
of my very own.
of my very own.
of my very own.
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