Teenage Poem Novels & Stories

Becca informed Alexander. He said with a small smile on his lips, “I am sure you will do great, Becca.” He had no idea why he smiled or had confidence in her. It just came out of his mouth naturally. Becca stood up and sucked in a deep breath. “The name of this poem is Crushed.” Then she started reciting the poem. The stars start to shine, Making everything glow in the sky. I wait for you at nine, But never approached, not knowing why.

my eyes glance at the first word on the last two lines and say, “EN” “KAREN?” He calls out and I look up at him. “Yes?” I answer and I frown when I see him concentrating on the word without pressing the enter button. “No, I mean the word you just gave me is KAREN, as in your name.” I am still having a hard time understanding what he’s saying until I glance up and look at the arrangement of the poem, and then I understood and realise that it’s Karen. Then it hit me what I haven’t thought of since all the while. This is the World of Poetry and like William said earlier, he has always wanted to be a poet, but what I never asked was if he has tried writing any poem because from what I just saw,

I fill it with words, but none of them laugh like you. 🫖 I drink tea that tastes like the idea of calm. It’s not enough. 🫶 You’re the margin in all my paragraphs. They didn't always talk about big things. But every word was tether. One evening, Yam was asked to read during an open mic. He stood behind the microphone, palms clammy, crowd half distracted. He read: _"There’s a boy in Baler who builds crooked shelves and paints the truth onto walls too small for regret.

she says before walking out. I’m not family. Nothing is going on with King and me. Sighing, I walk to the class and sit down. I stop when I see the paper, the sketch, and the poem on it. The sketch is of an eye, with the reflection of a person walking in it. I begin to read the poem. A hundred words Doesn't speak enough A thousands stories Doesn't tell enough A single look, tells so much A lifetime of stories A lifetime of pain Emotions hidden within

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.

The night sky stretches above, clear and star-studded, a canvas of serenity that contrasts with the chaos within me. I've always found comfort in writing, and tonight is no different. The words flow from my fingertips onto the screen, a form of therapy that helps me process the storm of emotions raging inside me. As I jot down a few lines about my situation, the poem takes shape, capturing the essence of my pain and confusion. It's a bittersweet creation, a reflection of the tangled web of emotions I find myself trapped in.

The Poem When I unfolded the paper, I gave them the theme of the poem, which was "SORRY." Then I continued with the recitation. "Sorry, Do you know that I have been wondering? Yes, I have been wondering what my world would be like If I didn't have you in it. Now, it has become a reality that you, Yes, you—my beloved Cynthia—might be mad at me. Come on, Cynthia, you don’t have to be mad at Damian.

"Hmm. Just wheat bread. With raspberry on top." I sometimes wish I was dead so that I wouldn't have tears in my eyes and an imaginary lump in my throat that I couldn't swallow even how hard I try. Sometimes, I watched and observe people, and when I stumbled upon teens my age. I couldn't help but tear up at night, how can they achieve beautiful things like that? How did they level up so fast while I'm still figuring out which feet to step on high stairs. They all become so beautiful, while I become the dimwitted loser.

So she plans that repots to do just to surprise me, I can't help but love and smile when I see her in front of me. Now I’m filled with energy. “1.2.3.4” Tagan started the strumming his guitar. And I started singing. “I am tired of this place I hope people change I need time to replace what I give away and my hopes, they are high I must keep them small though I try to resist I still want it all” It was a melo beats when Aiden started to play with the smooth beats on. “I see swimming pools and living rooms and aero planes I see a little house on a hill and children’s name I see quiet nights pored over ice and Tanqueray but everything is shattering and It’s my mistake”

My heart started to beat fast in my chest. How many times had she seen us at our worst? How much had we hurt her without even realizing it? Feeling overwhelmed, I turned to the next page and found a short poem scribbled in her neat handwriting. It was about stars, rivers, and memories. Reading her words, I felt a sense of peace and calm wash over me. It was as if Val was speaking to me through her poetry, reminding me of the beauty and wonder of life.