robin cooper

goodbye, my lover
the rain's patter-patter goes along rhythmically
with the sound of my heartbeat.
even though he is gone, i still feel his touch.
how his fingertips breezed along the small little
blond hair on my arm when we walked together in the park.
or the way his lips pressed against mine like a soft
cushion my head has laid upon before.
the way his voice sounded, smooth
as the silk that spread across my bed or
seeped into my moisturized skin.
the way he hugged me closely and tightly,
not hurting none of my bones, crippling
either one of them. only mending them into
my true identity.
they say everything progresses in time. time
fly pass and in a blink of any eye. he wasn't in my sight,
i was empty handed, the rain's patter-patter no longer
went rythmically with my heartbeat.
his fingertips has long gone to someone's else small

little hair on their arm. his cushion

like lips went to someone else's more thin, like ice.

his sliky voice didn't rang in my ear, went into someone else's.

he hugged someone else tighter. mending their bones together.
what was wrong with me?
was i not that talented?
was it because i did not come from a
different religion other than his?
no, it wasn't that at all. none of those are
true. i was perfect for him, it was just that

everything went into
place with just one little kiss on a boy's lips.
i'm moving along, but i can't get away from our past.
they say everything progresses in time.
that's bull, to me.

roxi anderson & clayson connors

one way road

which road shall we take, madam?
well i don't know, sir! make a choice, make a choice
your future lays ahead of you.
sir, one is a two way road and the other is a
one way road.
you have a keen eye, madam!
mm, two roads diverged between
a stop sign, but which one shall we choose.
you stride through the one way path, but
you can't make a u-turn!
you can stride through the two way path,
and take a bumpy ride.
sir, i'm not sure what are you saying.
you're confusing. dear, dear, take this peeble
and throw it into the one way road.
wasn't that easy?
why, yes! take this 1,000 pound
peebles and throw it
into the two way path.
i can't it's too heavy.
pick a road, pick a road! there's two roads
diverged between a stop sign, do
you know which one we shall
choose to get through life.
i do sir, i do. we're going to take the
two way road.

dan hunter

passing lives
i don't think everyone knows what
it's like to lose someone.
there's pain, suffering, crying
and terrible headaches [caused by the crying].
i saw these "hoodlums" stopping by the
skate park, smoking more than a pack of
cigarettes, in a minimum of 3 hours.
my dad died. since then i've
been living in hell with my mom.
i think i'm going mental writing creepy
stories about her "unpredictable" death.
falling down the stairs, with a knife sticking up in
the air. being stabbed to death by a masked man.
being raped and then set on fire with gasoline and a
match.no one knows what she has done to me.
she punch me against the wall, for not washing the
dishes. she nearly stabbed be in the stomach after
being caught with kathleen in the bed.
kathleen & i still do it, just at her house.
she helps me relieve all the stress.
i'll do anything, goodbye apathy.

isaiah phillips & daniel ramon

gay pride

you may think it's funny that
two very different guys are up here
talking about gay pride, we have the preppy
skater guy and, me, the gay jewish atheist.
but everything may seem unlikely that neither of
us might even do but we are going to tell our story,
even if you heard.
dan-iel ra-mon, is the name put together and you
said it right. you might see walking around in
the hallways, smelling like a fresh pack
of marlboro cigarettes, with my baggy levi's
jeans and hollister or polo shirts, then you see my
accessories, my girlfriend robin and my preppy gang.
i-sa-iah phil-lips, i don't need the same introduction,
i already have a list of adjectives attached to my name:
outcast, reclusive, opaque, smart alec, gay and last but not
least, the atheist. but i'm not that different from you, aren't i.
no, we're exactly alike. you've probably heard that
we kissed in a park. well, it's true. i don't care
what you think of me now, it's not going to change
who i am. only who i like. go ahead, shun me
like you do to him. go ahead and ignore me.
go ahead and judge me. go ahead and stereotype.
we're just showing gay pride.

roxi anderson

walking through the density of hatred
walking hard. walking strong.
i try not cry when i find hate letters slip
into the slates of my locker
i went to my consular for the first time,
since my crazy attack, i nearly picked up a bottle
of budweiser if it wasn't for clayson who took the drink out of my
evil hands. that's how both my mom and dad died. simply
picking up a bottle.
today, i walked to the beach by myself since clayson
wasn't at his house. i didn't go too far but i sat there
in the middle of the ocean, watching out for benny
at the lifehouse station for anything weird across
the docks, but everything was normal with garbage deposing
the waste into the waters, i shook my head at the site
and rope the boat against the docks.
if i wasn't shun by the whole student body, i wouldn't
be hanging around in a boat on baywatch.
but things are changing.
and things are looks up for me,
but i'm still walking through the
density of hatred.

clayson connors

leaving the past

i'm a private person....so you
can say i don't open up to anyone, really.
no one in this town really likes me, because they
think i'm trying to ruin their suburban city. only
if they knew the REAL reason why i was here.
i spend most of time hanging out smoking a fresh
pack of marlboro cigarettes. 3 packs, a day.
the only person i really trust is roxi, she is cute, too.
we hang out by the sea, usually we go to the other dock
on the other side of town.
she loves the market there. they have pretty seashells
the glistens in the sun. her face blended in with the mood of
the people's own, happy & delighted to just live another day.
i know they all have clean slates, especially roxi who gets shun
by the student body for simply trying to save their lives from
danger.
me, on the other hand, was sent to this suburban city for
drunk driving. i guess i was just upset
about my folks getting divorce, my grandmother being run
over by a car and all. so i went onto the high dive and jumped into
a pool of alcoholic drinks, i was wasted that night that i stole
a car and drove into the highway where the police found out i was drunk.
my mom really didn't want to send me here, but she
had no choice to. it's my fault for dealing with my
problem, the way that i handled it. but i learned
from my mistake. i should be back in miami but i decided
to remain here in the suburbs. to see where my life goes
from here, maybe.
don't drink & drive...it'll make you a different
person to the eyes of others, i'm just leaving the
past behind me and creating a new folder
called manana, tomorrow.

fiona harrison

sickening watercolors

i slosh my paintbrush in the cup of
red paint , i draw read oval on the canvas.
dip the soft silky brush into the green mushy
liquid, and green splash across the paper.
yellow came next, rays of sunlight shoot out
at me like a 3D of happiness. black darkened
the canvas but something about that darkness
sparked the canvas, the blackness was opaque
against the canvas.
hidden in the shadows beneath my
sister. but the pixie dust prevailed, she always
bragged about being dad's favorite. he never pushed
her into something she didn't want to do. i have troubles
of my own, too.

one morning i just woke up and started to
clip my hair away with the scissors . maybe
i was going crazy, like my sister said. she walked
her eyes was iridescent like the wings of a butterfly
in the bathroom light. she was angry at me, i could tell.
she grab the scissors out of my hand like she wanted to stab into
my heart, giving me the satisfaction of being dead.
i cowered back to the sink, my fingertips touching my
soft brown hair.

she stopped in her tracks and dropped the scissors,
her face was still blazing red. you're the reason why mom left us
she murmured as she left the bathroom. i never told that she nearly
took my life away. even though i desperately wanted her to.

updates

this is the first update on Adolescents Whining {AW}.

i hope you all enjoyed my little "story teen soap opera: poetry slam style"

and no need to fear, some old characters would come around in awhile.

So put on a smile and enjoy the updates of some of your favorite mates.

yes, i know i am typing a poem and it's not by any one of them.

Let's see if you know these characters, if it matters.

Let's see if you remember the poem, if you know them.

do you remember the signfacance of the poem?

the theme?

the general idea?

what was the character going through?

to answer all these questions, the only thing you need to do

is read Adolescents Whining.

Music

"Chelsea Daggers" -- The Fratellis

"Heaven Forbid"-- The Fray

"Trust Me" -- The Fray

"Dance Athem" -- Good Charlotte

"Keep Your Hands Off My Girl"-- Good Charlotte

"Shut Up and Let Me Go" -- The Ting Tings

"That's What You Get" -- Paramore

"Here We Go Again"--Paramore

"California" -- Metro Station

"We Wish We're Older" -- Metro Station

"HeroHeroine"-- BoysLikeGirls

"Great Escape"-- BoysLikeGirls

"Mr. Brightside" -- The Killers

"Read My Mind"--The Killers

Poems

prologue {author: shenell keanna}
heaven forbid {roxi anderson}

relam of possibilites {fiona harrison}

fifty cents for your soul {isaiah phillips}

lost in translation {morris west}

marlboro cigarettes & the eye fro the queer guy {daniel ramon}

falling tulips {robin cooper}

robin cooper

falling tulips

my eyes hurt very much.

and i have a massive migraine.

i just survived the first three-way call attack.

the pressures of trying to be popular.

i'm suppose to be cool and hip,

but i'm not cool nor hip i'm robin

cooper, that's who i'm suppose to be.

i hate being mean to the geeks and telling them

to do my homework. once again, this is the pressure

of being popular!

maybe this isn't the lifestyle i shouldn't be living in, seriously.

but this not the main problem, my friends are telling me

they witnessed daniel, my boyfriend, kissing the queer jewish

atheist himself, isaiah. i deny it anyways, daniel isn't

queer . they are just jealous, that is all.

sometimes i wish everyone could see me behind

all the plaster of popularity, just see all

the drug and alcohol abuse. yeah, that's right,

i've taken drugs. i had a hypodermic needle in my

arm, i sniffed a white powder substance before.

yeah gulped down corona light, eight bottles

straight until i was knocked out on the beach.

i have hidden secrets, but i'm not going to

relase them anytime soon.

it'll ruin my reputation.

daniel ramon

marlboro cigarettes & the eye for the queer guy

i wasn't surprise when clayson connors walked up to our

gang in our after school hang out,
the skate lot, he's been hanging with morris a lot

lately. plus he got suspended a few times for putting

graphic arts on the school walls. i swear these city kid,
are junk artists, they just want to ruin

the suburbs reputation.

"what do you want, connors?" i asked. our gang

are full with preppy kids, all wearing polo shirts and

khakis. we're often called the "socs" of the suburbs.

"i want to take a smoke, with you guys" clayson responded,

without hesitation. i looked back at the rest of the guys,

their skateboards propped against the surface all of us smirking.

i stick my hand out into the air and waved my fingers, signaling

for the cigarettes.

"take one, connors. the prices of these are rising" opening the

packet was little finding gold at the end of the rainbow. then, that scent

just get that temptation out of you. i watched his fingers with calluses

touching the cigarettes, i felt my fingers fingering for the blue lighter that

was hidden deep inside my blue jeans. i swiped it and light up the cigarette

for him. he smoked it like a professional, "this is some good stuff, dan"

he slapped my arm and walked away. one cool city

kid, that's all i have to say.

after the skate lot, i saw isaiah phillips trying to catch his flying paper,

maybe something important for school. of course, it flew by my feet.

he ran over, clutching onto his little cap that always forgot the name of.

His red-cherry lips were chapped from the hot weather. i handed the paper

to him without looking at it. he grabbed it from my hands, "thanks"

he murmured.

everyone knew he was queer and an atheist,

which was why everyone shunned him.

always wondered what is it like to be shun.

we stood in silence for 2 minutes until i finally

spoken, "what is it like to be shun?"

the silence had been broken.

"it feels like your missing out on everything in life"

he looked down at the concrete ground, hugging his textbooks

by his chest. "wanna smoke?" i asked, holding out a cigarette.

"i don't smoke. i have to oblige by the family rules" he bit his

bottom lip. i looked at him curiously,i touched the little blond

hairs on his arm. We were sitting on the park bench,

the dogs barks disappeared in our scenery. i weird feeling

overcame and then i felt our lips touch.

it tasted sweet, we pulled apart. he smiled at me,

i smiled for a while and then it disappeared.

i buried my hands into my face, i had just

kissed a boy it wasn't even my sister toy,

just swapping spit to get her angry. he knew i was

a bit shock about what i had done. "it's not

going to change who you are. only who you like".

his words didn't comfort me, it just made things

worse. i walked away home, quickly.

leaving him behind, i didn't dare to look back at his forlorn face.

the scent of his cologne lingered on my fingertips.

i didn't wash my hands because i wanted to remember him.

the impact of the kiss lingered on my lips like a visble label on my solid lips.

morris west

lost in translation

everyone sees me as the ladies man,
i mean it isn't that bad when you nearly
swoon every girl into fainting with one
single touch. but that is just the faintest
part about being "me"

despite the fact that i am
not a genius i still have an

internal organ called the brain,
plastered onto my head.

but that morris west isn't even

the real morris west.
that's just my superficial life.
in reality and i'm the loner,
as soon as i get home i dred the fact
of seeing that swollen red-face and bluging

eyes looking at me.
it's my father who has got me,

living in fear of my little brother.
we barely have enough to eat at night so
we sneak food from the cafeteria half the time.
we don't live in a trailer park or

in some poor neighborhood,
we live in a wealthy neighborhood

in a mansion.
it's just that my dad is disabled,

my mother left him and it was her fault, too.
if she hadn't picked up that metal bat and swung it at
his head nearly making him dead on the scene.

he gets rid of the pain by just drinking,
always calling my little brother to bring him a case of beer,
but if he doesn't he'll get one blow to the cheek and
i hate seeing my little brother running to me holding his red
cheek slowly swelling up like a cherry red balloon.
i just pretend as if my life is really what it seems like to everyone else.

isaiah phillips

fifty cents for your soul

like the greatest if them all,

i dream of becoming famous.

they say i won't make it.

but why not fake it?

i'm just a jewish atheist boy

living in the suburbs with deadly consequences

of being queer.

isn't that what life is all about?

"fifty cents for your soul" is what my drama teacher tells

me about those so-called "scumbags" do to you when you're seeking

to become famous. but this is the millennium not the 1980s of turbulent

years and seeing the greasers appearing in every drive thru theater across

the united states.

i am who i am, aren't i?

in this inudstrialzied world we live, we don't even

bother to notice the real issues of life. only celebrities.

that is what i want. to be center of attention.

but hollywood is just full of lies.

why in the hell do i want to try?

life is just a piece of crap. that is, if you live in my world.

if you were to see me at school, possibly talking with all the other students.

but you won't see me there, in this case, i'll be eating my unfloured crackers in

honor of passover in the corner looking out of the dirty window feeling like the people

in holocaust and how they felt to be lonely. obviously, you can tell i'm the social outcast.

but what have i done to anyone of them? i mean, i understand

why roxi anderson might eat lunch at the same table as me, yet, she doesn't even

speak to me either even though we're at the same social status.

maybe i'm lower than her. since the girl is still drop dead gorgeous,

those hazel eyes can just make a boy squirm even the queer one. did you know she once

smiled at me? i think i felt special that day.

my old man isn't up for the whole idea

of me becoming famous. he wants me to become

a rabbi. like that's going to do any good for me.

and frankly, i haven't open up to my family that i'm

queer. i wish i could turned myself back to normal when i used

to like girls, not now, when i like boys.

life is crap. all you have to do is suck it up and...

well you get the point.

fiona harrison

relam of possibilites

pretty optimistc, for a pessimistc.

pretty pessimistc, for a optimistc.

everyone is different, so why do we judge

a book by it's cover?

it our hearts thump against the beat if time,

why do we shatter it when things don't go our way?

when something is possible in life, why do we believe that

the possible outcome is impossible?

we have a relam of possibiltes, you throw it away,

i kiss it and let it fly away. when i get older it'll return to

me, when it's ready.

dad, you can't make the decisions for my life.

that's my job. so. let. it. be. i want to create art, i went

paint my world with colors. i want to show peace, life, sadness

POSSIBILITES.

i dream of becoming an artist, but why won't you

let me do what i want to? just because you didn't have the chance

to become a tennis player that doesn't mean you should takeover my life.

i know you never wanted a daughter, only a son

to teach him the art of tennis. but still, it gives you no right.

live your life and i'll live mine.

i have a relam of possibilites.

you have the impossible.

roxi anderson

heaven forbid

tumble weeds to dust.
a household of bleakness.
roxi. roxi anderson is the name
written on my birth certificate, black hair, slit hazel eyes,
and light skin complexion. just a recipe for jealously, like no other.

people think of me as the snitch or the sneaky rat.
i used to be known as the quiet cheerleader,

cheering for the suburban wildcats basketball team.

1, 2, 3,4 my life change in a flash before my eyes. it flew away before
i could have grasp onto it for a little bit longer, but no one ever gave me the chance to do that.

if only i could have gone with the flow.
act like a soon-to-be ninth grader but someone else came over
me. the snitch came out when she saw trouble as usual.

two guys fighting over a silly thing, thinking that one

of them will pull out a gun i thought as fast as i could.

call the police. no one seemed to care if the two guys were breaking stuff, didn't care if anyone

was bleeding.

the police came in time. they shut down our celebration of officially becoming freshman.

i remember the words that came out of everyone mouth as they walked out, some handcuffed others trying to hide the booze.

"what a way to end the last year of eighth grade, anderson!"

those words hit me like a small dog being mugged by a stray pitbull.

bottles of liquor came out of the house and kids were brought out in stretches. one that shock nearly the neighbors

was two kids with hypodermic needles in their arm. already dead on the scene from an overdose.

neighbors, policemen and the local news held me as a "hero". all my peers hauled me into a box,

a different one.i was labeled as the "quiet cheerleader" to "the original snitch".

lately i have been trying new things. i've been smoking,

i'm getting used to it but it releases all the bad energy.

it's suicide. social suicide, that is.

heaven forbid that everything will be alright and at least someone would see me

behind this box with a large label that says "the original snitch" but i'm kidding myself, aren't i?

no one ever see behind that, it doesn't matter because things will always remain the same
if i change my name and my identity or move to south africa or a desert in arizona.

melted wax to no tax
dripping glitter to a sold out picture
roxi anderson has issues like kleenex tissues.