Poems About Life As A Teenager Novels & Stories

Sky says as she jesters with her hands to me. I took a couple of deep breaths before I began to read my poem out loud. Gathering my nerves before I speak. Lifeless Lost and alone left empty without a home. Watching as the wind blows, chattering through hollow bones. Words are nothing but a sound cracking and breaking with each bound. A girl once set to sore left with oozing pores, born in a world torn in two. Amber eyes stare into the starry skies, locks of blonde hair ripped from a head now bare. A face that once held so much grace, revealing split flesh tattered like mesh. Words are nothing but a sound cracking and breaking with each bound. Tears shed out of so many fears, crying in the da

Jane stared at the sudden mess in cultural shook as Anne laughed in awkwardness. "What on earth possessed them?" Jane asked with big eyes gaining her attention to Anne. "Ha..ha.. it will be back to normal once the teacher arrives." The contrast fashion girl replied while scratching her nap. Purely embarrassed on her classmates' behalf. Jane once again roamed her eyes around with a hard stare. Everyone was going wild and looked free like they don't have any responsibility or worry. Well, that's how a teenager's life is. Everything appears to be fun at this age. To an extent, this fun looks great until it starts to cost your life. Those who fail to recognize their duties on time and lose thems

Lately I'm not so sure anymore. I should call someone, tell them what was going on with me, but what's the point? I'll be good for a little while only to go through this same thing again in a few weeks or at the most a month. This is such bullshit. It's supposed to be the best time of my life, eighteen years old, the last year of high school. I'd always looked forward to this as the time to let loose and party. Instead my life is unraveling and instead of late night parties and weekend benders with my friends, I'm little more than an outcast and a laughingstock for the real jocks.

I ran Into the woods of Roselyn's pack and I could sense other wolves going for a run just like I was. We communicated with each other through howls. This was fun. Klein and I did a lot when we were teens. I missed it so much. It was a time in our life when we didn't have to worry about anything but homework and maybe the two girls we were talking to finding out about each other. It was a time before my parents died, things had been so simple. It was also a time where I didn't know what grief was. Now that I think about it, life was much simpler before I turned sixteen, before I heard the news of my parent's demise.

He was getting personal, but I had a feeling it was okay to answer his questions. "Love is a strange word for someone my age. I can't define what love is or isn't. I'm just a teenager with a teenage dream. All I have is a dream that someday we can return to the life we used to have," I shared honestly. He nodded, taking in my words. "Thank you for opening up. I didn't know you'd been through all that. I thought you were just a brat, but I see now that you're more than that."

I drop the photo amongst the ones I’ve already taken a look at and hold another up my face. My jaw clenches. This is a photo of a teenager is sat on a concrete bench just by a fence painted with graffiti at night. The photo graphics gives a late nineties aesthetic. Wearing a leather jacket and black cargo jeans with a can of beer in his hand, the teen stares at the camera boredly. The reddish eyebags around his eyes prove and tells a lot of tales. A lot of struggles most people back then would refer to as teenage hormones. Teens are always misunderstood. I know that because I am one. I take a careful look at the picture before turning it around. -Killian.

It tasted like the night we carved our names into wood and believed wood could outlast empires. It tasted like the valley I will never reach and the children whose names I still whisper to the stars. If anyone ever finds this diary, tell them the last safe word worked. It just took sixty years for the right creatures to hear it. Tell them two teenagers invented a silly word because they thought the universe had no imagination. Tell them the universe listened harder than we ever did. Tell them a boy kept a pomegranate in his fist until it bled through his fingers and still never said the word.

The way she cried when something hurt too deep for noise. "I am so tired of carrying this. Of waking up every day knowing I destroyed millions of lives. Of seeing their faces in my dreams. Of wondering if I deserve to be happy. If I deserve to laugh. If I deserve to—exist. I am twelve years old and I feel like I am a thousand. Like I have lived too long. Seen too much. Broken too many things." I pulled her close. Let her cry against me. Let her feel small and young and held. Let her be child instead of warrior. Instead of genius. Instead of weapon.

I couldn’t be a child, or a teenager, and now… not even an adult. — That’s not embarrassing, Josh. It’s sad and horrible. The only people who should feel ashamed are your parents. They’re stealing your life, your childhood, your teenage years. You missed out on so many experiences, chances to make friends, visit new places, have fun… and the list just keeps growing — she says, visibly shaken by what she heard. — The only escape I have from all of this is my paintings. My paintings are my little dreams. Everything I wished I could have lived when I was younger. That’s why I told you before that my paintings are my life. My world.

“What mom? How can you say that--” She gave me her phone. There was a poem he had written. “I’d love it if you read this and think that I feel anything for her-- “She was my life, she left, life left. Never had anything, even my soul has left. Being a boy was never the best thing, When the only girl I ever loved left. Do you know that feeling? When there is nothing to see? Because you just don’t know What you should be? When there is no reason to live