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Aching for Youth

Jen Selinsky

Copyright © 2011 by Jen Selinsky

All rights reserved by the author. No part of this publication can be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher and/or author.

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Cover Art Copyright © 1996 by Jen Selinsky

ISBN: 9781370654291

Not every poem included in this book is dated in chronological order.  This is not an oversight on my part. Rather, I have made some changes and substitutions.



A stolen life

No one ever knew—

The only people who

Noticed your absence

Were the ones who were

The closest to you.

Little girl lost, having been

Thrown into an unfamiliar place,

Forced to live with some selfish

Man and woman’s sick ideals;

You were not even allowed

To speak or write your own name!

Childhood innocence taken;

You never got to know the joys

Of adolescence, going along with

Your educational years, though

You have learned so much

While your heart and mind survived.

You have written your story

For the rest of the world to read,

And you shall write again!

You shall be given what you

Were denied before because

Someone has heard your cries

And delivered you to a safe haven,

Where you and your loved ones

Can live and love, having hopes

For an optimistic future.

*dedicated to Jaycee Lee Dugard


Trees not bare outside;

Winter has yet to surface—

Still have some reprieve.


Thoughts of you

Seen through

A dream

And matched

To pinpoint

Any time of day.

Frustration does not

Go away;

It simply resides

Inside the places we

Forget to reach.

So much I have yet to

Learn and

Teach because

You have

Walked into

My life, allowing me to

Know a friend that I

Would not normally

Have had—though

Years have been known

To make things change

For different parts to


I don’t know what you

Think of me, but I find

That I’m very fond of you!

*dedicated to Dashass Frost (Frosty)


I just want to reach

Outside to see if I could

Touch the stars before

They all fall by the

Wayside—swept away by

The nightly tide that

Comes to claim the hour.

I’ve seen it all too clear

For anyone else to



No sense in complaining

And bringing your rumbling

Stomachs anywhere

Near me.

I am not really here;

I’m there, you see.

Dream up something

New for me so that

I can make a homage

To you.


Sweat blasted through

My veins; how much

Longer until I get to

Take the reins and lead

Us to somewhere new?

I had not even let this

Cross my mind until

I met you in a midsummer

Night’s dream.

My poor little brain is

Running out of steam,

But I can’t end all this

Right here.


“Queenie,” the lost ones said,

As they held you very dear.

This does not leave much

Time for hatred or fear

Because you put the words

In my mouth, not I.

Someday, we will have to

Stop and find a reason

Why because we know that

Everything is not all quite

There, seemingly bare.


Tony Banks, why do I

Call out your name?

You never should have

Gotten the negative vote

When it came to your

Claim to fame.

No use for denial because

Others would have called

It a shame.

Now you shall never know

This woman who writes a

Song about you.

*dedicated to Tony Banks



Disguised as sweat.

Lord help me, before I don’t

Revert back to my old

Days, back when I was

Thin and had a stomach

Or two to spare.

People would take notice

And stare at the woman

On the street, whom they

Mistook for a model;

That fit me to a T!

What is it about myself that

I fail to see?


Eat according to plan,

Lore of the thin man

Because he did not cry

Out in desperation; invisible

Food did not touch

His eye because substance

Made him cry—

Vulnerable and unaware

Of the people whom he did

Not know.


Tentacles reach my back, a

Nagging cough that would

Not leave.

How long is it going to

Take you people to believe

That I was not found

This way before—drunken

In a heap because I tossed

Myself to the side.

In confidence, I tell the

Strangers because they have

Nothing to hide.


Vivid imagination; that

I’ve always had.

Things pop into my head—

Like it takes almost no

Effort at all (just

Enough to move the

Pen or pump the keys).

Charming my way into

Their minds and into

Their hearts as I think

Of something almost

Entirely new.


Up to reach the clear

With no one and nothing

To domineer (fear) because

I have marched myself over

To the place where I’m

Supposed to be.

Gathering information in

What appears to be a place

That’s supposed to look

Exactly like me—in shorts

Because my pants are all

Hanging out to dry.


Missing the world; why

Did we wait?

I hate the fact that

We weren’t able to go!

No show—the most

Upset I’ve been in days.

It takes a lot to make

Me want to get out

Of this place, and this is

Doing nothing but

Encouraging me

To stay in!



Enough to stick a fork into.

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