Novel & Cerita Teenage Poem

I ask myself. "Umm...no." "Hmm..." I look around the room for inspiration. The red ink stands out to me. Stay? Could that fit? I want to run far, far away To a place where I feel I can’t stray Stay somewhere I feel welcome And not like an outcast Because it seems everywhere I go I feel like a victim eaten up fast For once I plead Someone to ask me Will you please... stay?' And just like that, with the one word the poem completed itself, it became whole , it was finished, it's own living and breathing entity of words and letters and deep meaning.

Because this isn’t funny. “Okay, but—wait. This is teen pregnancy, right? This is literally the definition of teen pregnancy. I’m eighteen! Well I’ll be nineteen soon. I throw my head back and groan so loud I’m shocked no one knocks on the stall door to ask if I’m okay. “I am so not okay.”

It's Friday and that means another weekend is almost here. Weekend are when we live. The teenage years come to life on the weekend. The responsibilities of school and homework are left behind in the classroom. The hallways are crammed full of everyone pretending to be something they're not, with me the Queen B pretending to be above it all. But the thing is I have never been above any of them. I hate that think that I am, I'm not.

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

New shapes. Not commands. Not simplifications. But presence in phrase form. Each definition was half-poetry, half-instinct. And Eden never corrected a single one. Then the youngest child barely six spoke softly: “What’s the word for… when I feel something too big to explain… but small enough that I still want someone to hold my hand?” The girl stopped writing. Eden looked up slowly. And whispered: “We haven’t named that yet.” The child blinked. “Can we?” The unfiltered Eden smiled for real.

HEY GUYS, I'VE DECIDED TO START POSTING LITTLE POEMS WHICH I WROTE DURING THE COURSE OF WRITING THIS STORY. I HOPE YOU LIKE IT. ROMANCE What is romance, yeah yeah yeah Where is romance Isn't it here? Is it a knight in shinning armor Can I ever see it? Can I ever experience it? I want my own romance With my most romantic fantasy Filled with dreams that May not come to pass But I can't stop fantasizing

The teacher is explaining something about Lewis structures when I feel someone poke my arm. What does he want now? I decide to ignore him not wanting the teacher to catch us both and give us detention. "Pssstt, Layla.." He says as he keeps poking my arm. I snap my head around and give him a pissed look. "Can you be quiet?" He sticks out his lower lip and pouts at me giving me puppy dog eyes. What is is problem? I stare at him and spin my head back around. He stops bugging me for a few seconds when I feel a piece of paper appear in my hands.

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.

What a waste of time and energy. "So, what do you think, Hendrix? Do you think she'll like it?" His friend asked, excited but nervous eyes staring at him. The boy sucked his drink from his straw, blinking apathetically. "Come on, Hendrix, help a brother out here! I need her to like my poem, I need her to think I'm the most sexy and silver-tongued, charming juvenile she has ever met. My heart and sex life depend on it!" He rolled his eyes at his friend's antics. He's always doing this. It was one of the reasons he found it ridiculous.

You're the sky ruling over the stars. Noah didn't say anything for a while and then praised, "That was nice." Tears pricked my eyes, but I smiled ruefully and said in a shaky voice, "I wrote this poem when I was ten based on what my sister had said that night. It's always easier to remember poetries for me since I even sing this when I need motivation. When I have given up on my life, but need to-to just push forward." Noah just hummed as we both looked at the stars, lost in our own world, maybe somewhere beyond the world where we weren't broken. Then suddenly, I recalled something very important that broke my reverie. I sat up crossing my legs and took out an envelope from my pocket.