Age 14
Age 14
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_The rose is wilting
Empty thoughts flood my mind; Petals on the table, It’s just a matter of time. Sorrow for what’s being lost Or gratefulness for the privilege to have seen such a blessing Selfishness wants to hold onto the present For fearful thoughts of the future I’m not confessing. Red petals curl The edges dry. Fatigued, they slip to the table As the rose begins to cry. Standing here No longer strong and bold, Weakening with every moment The room grows cold. Who can stop this tragedy These parts of life that seem to repeat? Is this a sign of growth Or an omen of defeat? Age 20 _The heart of a poet;
The mind of a writer; The thoughts of one, Which must be expressed, Be lived, And told. The curse of seeing Depth in every detail. The blessing of having That vision. Emotional discussions, Individualized clothing, And the inexplicable desire, To live, And write Of life, In all its glorious angles. We are difficult, But delicate, Stubborn, But open, Depressed, But ecstatic. We are Forever Writers. Age 16 I’ve lived through so much,
In what seems to be Such little time. I’ve learned so many things, So many things Which seem to be too mature for me to know. I’ve hurt in great ways, And in a variety Which seems too great to be just. I’ve walked a long way In this journey of life. Little, unsure footsteps On a rocky and winding trail Have grown into more steady steps, But even larger strides have their stumbles. I have been told That upon peering into my brown eyes, One can sense a quality Thick, hanging in the air Just long enough To hold your glance. A quality most intriguing, That of a vulnerable toughness, That of a broken child In a body of determined strength. Age 16 _Let the music pour through me,
And the words counsel my heart. Let the familiar words calm my mind, And the mellow tune ease my soul. Let the stress drain from me, As the melody flows through, Like a soft massage, A warm river, Straight past my body To who I am. Let my muscles relax, And my thoughts slow. Let the music pour through me, And sing healing from within. Age 16 _I stopped writing poetry
For months, this time. I didn’t do it intentionally, But knowingly. Why am I back to it? It came back to me. Everyone has their calling Their place. Poetry is mine. I should be glad to know Exactly how to ease my soul, Some people look for a lifetime. Yet, I’ve stopped. For months. To do it alone, I guess, To live alone. To not tell my soul’s thoughts, But a soul cannot be shackled, And this I learned in agony. Until out of my routine, My life, Came one person Who didn’t need to care, And they told me, Without knowing my struggles, To write again For them. To write again because They saw my need, They saw my shackles. Age 17 _I have a flame
Deep in my soul That provides my strength, My hope to go on. When I am sad and lonely, My flame dwindles, But when I am excited and passionate, It beams with light. We all have flames. They are the twinkles in our eyes; The tenseness in our muscles; The bounce in our steps; The determination to never give up or give in; The are our will power. Age 13 _My mind is as blank
As this page used to be. It’s not a wondering blank, Not a confused or patient. Not a tired blank, I’m not even bored. It’s not an empty blank, I have not given up. It’s just a blank blank. The kind that keeps you up at night, When nothing unusual or exciting happened that day, And nothing out of the ordinary will happen tomorrow. It’s not a putting-off-something blank, Or a blank of denial. It’s not a stressed blank, I guess, It’s just a blank blank. Age 16 _Call me crazy,
Call me whatever you want. You don’t understand, So I must be Outta line, Outta mind, ‘Cause you don’t get it. Let me cry till My tears get lost. Let me scream till My voice fades to gasps. Let me think till You swear I’m doomed. Let me do all this, Say what you want. Just try to hide your Smile when you see me Dancing To music of my own, laughing, And glowing with joy. Just let me dance, Call me crazy. Age 17 _The feelings that flow through me
Are both strong and vague. My expressions are that of deep thought and confusion Masked by a blank stare; By lifeless eyes, For my attention has turned from the outward world, My mind and soul are beckoning me. Express, explain, relieve These mixed emotions That have no name, No place to settle, For they plague me, Make me dig within myself To find their source, To let them rest, And be in peace. So here I lay them, In the pages of this book, I’ve exposed them, In turn, Setting myself free. Age 18 |
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