Novel & Cerita Homeless Youth Stories

Looking around, I see a diverse collection of people who have adapted to their surroundings, finding ways to make a living using the skills they have. There are musicians playing jazz with their empty hats or cases open for tips and artists on the plaza each with their unique ways of looking at the world. You could say the same about the tarot card and palm readers lining the other side of the block--each one unique but the same in how they share a connection to this city and to one another in their struggles to keep afloat. Micah had nobody to look after him when his uncle died until he found his Maman. He joined a gang by the age of 13. It is a miracle of sorts that he survived at all, nev

I was terrified of the thunder, I always hated how it sounded, out on the street, out of my window, and now out of my car. I had nowhere to go, I was a homeless person, living out of a car that have no gas to it, I couldn’t even change places even if I wanted to. This all started few months ago, my last fight with my mother, when she kicked me out of the house, I had my used car keys, a duffle bag with my stuff in it and six dollars in my pocket. I always thought six was a lucky number until I was left with only six dollars, I left the place crying, I had nowhere to go, getting into my crappy car and taking off to the road. I didn’t make it far, just up to an abandoned park, it’s where my ca

Mason held her hands and caused her to look at him. "Listen Ella, do not be scared, I won't hurt you I promise" Mason was not sure if he would have the courage to even do such. "Where do you leave?" Mason asked really curious to know but the girl didn't respond. "Look, I may be a stranger but you are no stranger to me at this moment" he stated touching her silk her which flowed gracefully down her back. "I am the definition of what you can call homeless; i don't have a home. I steal so i can make a living for myself" she began to sob and Mason instantly engulfed her in a hug. He felt his heart breaking as she narrated the story to him.

Every apartment wanted background checks, credit checks, guarantors, deposits the size of a small car payment. Things I didn’t have. So as the deadline crept closer, I packed my life into boxes. And just like that, at twenty-six years old, for the second time in my life, I found myself homeless. Now I stood beside my car in the fading twilight, listening to Brooklyn go about its business. Across the street a bunch of teenage boys—who honestly looked like toddlers to me—were hanging around the bodega drinking Mexican soda out of glass bottles and laughing like idiots. A group of girls stood nearby whispering and giggling, one of them brave enough to glance at the boys.

I understood that it was his sore spot. “There is nothing interesting or funny to tell about my childhood. My parents died in the car accident and they had debts, so bank took away our house. I had no place to live and I became homeless. But then one man came to me and offered me a job. I was 12 years old. I understood that I had to agree, because I would have died in the streets. I would get hit by other homeless men, because I was on their place and was taking their money by being there. That’s how I became a drug dealer... I had no other choice,” he trailed off.

Marcus yells and walks to me, pulling me into his arms. "What?" Zander whispers in shock. "I was really young. I didn’t even have money to buy food, my savings weren’t enough to sustain me even for a month. A week after arriving in York, I was thrown out of the motel I was staying at. I began sleeping on the streets and eating leftovers from dumpsters behind restaurants. During the night, men raped me simply because I was helpless. Then I found a way to make money with my body—it was already a waste anyway. I began selling myself for a day’s meal. But that wasn’t even enough, it failed me just like everyone else. Once my bump began to show, they didn’t want me anymore—who wants a pregnant pr

“You can tell me if you want to let all your emotions out. I know how it feels. It's very bad to have to keep all those sorrows to yourself." "Do you?" asked Lexie scornfully. Jacob doesn't really seem to know her feelings. She was broken, inside and out. No one here could understand her feelings. “My younger sister and I were homeless after our parents died. We don't have a house because we only rented a small apartment. After our parents died due to an incident, we didn't have the money to rent the apartment. We ended up leaving the apartment with nowhere to go. We occasionally steal on the street to buy food. We slept in an old abandoned building with a dozen other homeless people. I was

“Ready.” We walked to first period together—hand in hand. Stares followed. Whispers. Phones angled discreetly. #NicoExposed was still trending—new “leaks” every hour, twisting my homeless years (18–21) into “violent vagrant” narratives. Kicked out of my last foster home at 18. Streets. Alleys. Fights to survive. All painted as proof I was unstable. Dangerous. I felt every stare like a blade. But Elara’s grip kept me steady.

I wasn't a drug addict but I knew that selling these would definitely earn me some bucks. And I needed them, desperately. I had been hoping from homeless shelter to shelter for the past year, hiding from the police and every goddamn person who were eager to exploit a seventeen-year-old girl. I might have been an orphan and homeless but I wasn't helpless. At an early age I learned it in a hard way that fairy tales didn't exist, there's no knight in shining armor and Hogwarts' magic only existed in J. K. Rowling books. You only help yourself and save yourself-no one else was coming to save you.

The street was glittering from the beautiful Christmas decorations that adore every house and shop. It must feel nice to belong to one of those happy families behind closed doors, sharing laughter and the holiday spirit with people who love and genuinely care for you. But here I was roaming the street with the hope of getting something to eat, even a dry bread at this moment would taste like chicken fries. I was alone, hungry, and homeless. My name is Rebecca Sally and I am sixteen years old. I have been homeless for the past nine months. My story is quite a depressing one, it's not your regular story of beautiful girls and boys falling in love or peeps that were born with magical powers.