Ah, love. Yeah, right. Sure.

Well, I did run into what I thought was poetry -- good poetry -- in my early teens.

The first belongs to e.e. cummings; I haven't yet made a trip to a library to find a source for the second one -- it may have been an original one of mine or a less well known e.e. cummings work. I'm betting it also belongs to cummings. From my handwriting on the pair of them, I'd guess I was in the seventh, eighth or ninth grade. (around the same time I was doing dozens of extremely naive haiku studies of trees)

First cummings' iconic work:

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
then wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
-- the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids flutter which says

we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back into my arms
for life's not a paragraph

And death I think is no parenthesis

e.e. cummings

And this one, of unknown parentage:

except in your
honour,
my loveliest,
nothing
may move may rest
-- you bring

(out of dark the
earth) a
procession of
wonders
huger than prove
our fears

were hopes: the moon
open
for you and close
will shy
wings of because;
each why

of star (afloat
on not
quite less than all
of time)
gives you skillful
his flame

so is your heart
alert,
of languages
there's none
but well she knows;
and can

perfectly speak
(snowflake
and rainbow mind
and soul
november and
april)

who younger than
begin
are, in the worlds move
in your
(and rest, my love)
honour