not a catalogue of romantic possibilities, just a generic sketch book, sold on the shelves of every bookstore and stationer in america, the little black book came home with me from washington dc in sixth grade, the only memoir of that trip that means anything to me. when i bought it, at the university of maryland, i bought two pens - salmon and lilac. and i drew little girls with them, and a terrapin because that was the school's mascot. and i threw the book in a box with all the cheap postcards sold on the streets near the monuments and it wasted away until high school.

in high school, i learned to see whatever it is that some of us see in blank pages. the challenge, the possibility. there aren't many creative exploits that can't be accomplished with only the ready white surface of paper and a good ink pen, even a pencil. it's mystical, the effect blank pages have on me. they're sexier than maybe anything, especially good paper, like the supple sheets of the bed in an expensive hotel turned back, waiting.

throughout high school, the beginning of college, even last fall, it was my diary and the old entries comprised a bible. i forget who i was as a child. if i met her, i probably wouldn't understand her. but i'm no longer in danger of losing touch with myself as a teenager, even as a scared young woman venturing off to fight the demons of lonliness and self pity.

and though it may seem ill-advised, i'm going to node the things in that book. not all of them (i'll make a note where i skip places), but the important things. the bad teenage poetry, in all it's pimply faced, akward glory.

table of contents


again, i admit readily that this is bad teenage poetry, so please don't hold back with derisive commentary - that's what's fun about this particular 'art form.'
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