Please, a moment of silence, you're teen angst died

I have never understood the strange relationship some youths have with bad poetry. They cling to obvious rhymes and gory imagery as if it would keep them afloat and quality were a rock. I also have never understood the sense of aw that they give each other when they are able to grasp rudimentary metaphors. Yes I know you can compare your behavior with a mask, this does not mean you should. I could eat rat crap but that doesn't mean I should. That would be yucky.
In my youth I was a victim on teen angst poetry, please, no laughs, no judgment, I am reformed. But much like an alcoholic a teen angst poet will never fully be able to escape that world once they crossed into it. It has left me scared with a deep deep hatred for the stuff. But not only a hatred for the poems but for all those associated with the misguided form of generic expression, middle-schoolers. I hate them. I always hated them. Middle school is what hate would be if it were formed from silly putty into a building- dirty, pointless, and impressionable. When I see middle-schoolers in the mall I want to push them off their overly hormonal horse and then rob them of their precious dark sweat bands.
Perhaps I'm judgmental. Perhaps I'm a bit angsty myself. Perhaps it is just the shame of having been one of them. I'm not sure. But as unreasonable as my prejudice is, it has it's root in something real. Shame. That really is all prejudice is: self shame, self loathing, self disgust. Not that I am shameful of who I have become nor do I loath myself or am disgusted with myself, but, when I look back at my notebooks and see three to six poems describing my four walls as a prison, how can I not want to bang my late teenage head into all four of those oppressive mask wearing walls.
The truth is, when we are prejudice against others, it shows what we do not like in ourselves.
This story is 100% true.