I must have been a precocious teenager. I wrote a lot of poetry, most of which was about relationships (mostly failed ones) and a few poems about social issues.
The following poem strikes me now as being especially precious:
De Mock Race, He!
In this life, we are judged, not by our acts, but by what we deed:
By what we want, not what we need;
Good news is denounced, bad news we’re instructed to heed;
We’re told to follow, while others lead.
We come into this world naked, but we leave denuded,
Cause we’ve learned to live for today, so we can be constantly looted;
We’re informed to mind our own business and not be rude,
Thus, if we talk, we’re told we’ve intruded.
When we think of a good idea, it’s reported that we’re demented;
And, when we try to do some good, we’re almost always prevented;
The things we have, we don’t own, because they’re only rented;
Good old sweat is deodorized, ‘cause now it must be scented.
We’re awarded driving points which are labelled demerit;
We’re taught not to raise a child, but only to scare it;
We’re conditioned to spend ‘till there’s nothing left to inherit,
And, if we’ve any buried treasure, we’re ordered to declare it.
Our laws are deformed for others to bend,
And our cars are destroyed for others to mend;
Our worst enemy is supposed to be our friend,
Because, to his lower level, we’re supposed to descend.
Thus, ‘though we seem alive, we are deprived of our heights of
Happiness, debarred from the gates of freedom, and, in conclusion,
Left derelict to die in solitary by our society’s decision,