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Prose Poetry Teen Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Teen

These Prose Poetry Teen poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Teen. These are the best examples of Prose Poetry Teen poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

Your My Dear Friend

We have been together
treasured joy now for many years
we trust each other with our
emotions, with affection, tears,

Any day when you are sick or hurting
I feel your pain - significant other,
when eighter-one needs attention
we help one another...

These mutual friendly feelings
for assistance, approval, support
form our tight bonds,
usually never broken

Sharing visions, time together
we respect each other,
regardless of shortcomings
I know you, "I love you anyway"


Details | Prose Poetry | |

True Poem Of Abuse

                                ~True Story Of Abuse~

Marrying her at an immature age, older by 30 years, 
arranged marriage by her father.
Abuse started from day one. 

Raped fiercely that night, screamed for hours unable 
to move, she dozed off.
Ordering her to get his tray of breakfast, in bed,
once in with the tray, he glared at her,
with ferocious eyes, snatched it, smashed it on her head,
the boiling coffee burning her face, the glass hit her head 
strongly, a mortal blow, she lost conscious. 

He held her by her hair opened a dark small room
threw her inside, and closed the door. Not knowing
what to do, her face hurting from the burns, 
the head bleeding from the glass, so tortured
she dozed off.

A bang the door opens he snatches her from her hair again
take her to the dirty old bed, and begins raping her like
a wild animal. She lost conscious, and woke up again in
the same dark room, dirty, aching, hungry, helpless,
not knowing when someone anyone would come 
to her rescue.

After a few nights the same procedure, she started 
fainting out of weakness. One dark night he carried 
her far in his car, she felt being thrown out, 
lost conscious.

Awake in the hospital completely blind screamed? 
where am I? mother please dad, her mum held her 
caressed her, told her what is wrong with her,
due to the abuse of days and nights. 

Sorry my child, you will be blind, disfigured, pregnant
but please don't worry, we will take care of you and 
your child.

Apologizing and crying. They took her home that
day, to her room.They left the room, she never saw 
them again, she committed suicide later a knife
right into her heart. Bled to death. 
Her true story as an abused newly wed.
age 16.

8/5/2013
Therese Bacha.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

ScourMoueINn

 ScourMoueINn 
ScourMoueINn 
 
Sahrah tends. Sahrah tends the bar at the Inn. The ScourMoueINn. She washes dishes 
passes out Ale to the largesse man drinks droughts ever pays. IN the corner passing 
unnoticed is the small monkish man with the leer, so eye watch young Sahrah tend. When 
approached reproaches some nervous curses foiled. Foible but talented drinking no ale at his 
table but soda just impaling his eye upon Sahrah, sure he is never noticed young love never 
notices old want. His blemishes fails. She comes laying left on the table near the old mans 
soda was a Valentine Heart full of young love twisting it turning it over the old man read 
Sahrah loves... but the namme was failing no namme was forthcoming his misunderstanding 
was in thinking Sahrah never loves him, she loves everyone just the same as she tends even 
him. The largesse man no threat head bent half asleep full of Ale on the table. They soon all 
get away. Sahrah came. She stood looking inside like all young women have there own 
interest do. Reaching her hand out to touch once the elder mans beard. Then they left the 
largesse man there asleep turned the Key to the Door of the Inn. A Valentines Heart will 
come true. At the ScourMoueINn. Sarah tends. 



Details | Prose Poetry | |

CHANGED MY Underwear,------- and My Name

I
change my name 
like 
underwear...
fairly often, I suppose

I 
change my clothes 
like 
area codes
and Imma' damn gypsy, ya' see

I 
keep it fresh ta' death
nada
speck of blood
or 
ketchup on my attire

I 
got more rhymes 
than I got grey hairs
and 
that's an effing lot
because i got my share

I 
digg a 
hot-fire piece of passionate verse
those are 
indeed 
rare to find

YET...
if  only poets would 
unleash the fury 
instead of 
holding back
what's really 
on their mind...

I must say...
the library, 
the internet, 
the etc. etc...
would be a less stinky place...
AND, maybe 
I'd keep my name, and sever ties with 
underwear's elastic,
and just go 
APE-Spit Spastic!~


Details | Prose Poetry | |

I want you to know

I know a girl more broken than the aftermath of a bull in a china shop. She knows that her pain wont stop, so instead of trying to fix that, she only ever tries to make others happy. She puts everyone above herself and if life was a shelf shed be the ground. The most common sound escaping her lips is sorry. She cries herself to sleep every night, she has cuts on her arms as if too tally up all the hate she receives daily and if she could pay the bills in blood she would be able to afford a living. Lately all she's been doing is forgiving. 

	I want you to know that it's always darkest before the dawn, so if you have to wait another hour for the sun to rise, I will sit beside you with a watch and a red bull the size that two people need to keep them up just long enough to fall asleep together. If the weather is on our side or not, I will stay just to make sure you know you stay up long enough for that sun to rise. It's not a surprise when it does, and if it means you've gone a day without painting in blood, I will do what it takes to keep you from it another day. I suppose what I mean to say is;  

	Put it down. Just pretend its not there; let it disappear into thin air without a hair of a trace, because all it ever does is hurt you. those cuts mark the scars of your pain that will never fade. Cut into your skin, you don't remember the beginning, but you can find the end. Send a message to all the people that made you start, you're a work of art that just has a splatter; it doesn't matter, you can paint over it. Just sit down and look around you. You've built so many walls. You're trapped in a labyrinth made to keep people out but in turn you've locked yourself in. You can't climb the walls, all you hear is the echoed calls of your pain. 

	If you search for a while, maybe you'll find another face trapped in their own maze and you'll both smile; because it's comforting to know that you're not alone. Maybe that person you meet can give you a boost over your wall so you land feet first in grass. You don't need to ask, they're still there; trapped in the maze. Its sad how the price of happiness is almost always someone else's pain.

	PART ONE


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Kiss

Read my lips.
With your lips. 
They’re saying kiss,
Kiss me.
In the rain,
In the back of my car.
Read my lips that are saying,
Don’t break my heart. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

sober

                                            s o b e r...
The fuse burns the skin; 'till years disappear in the sear. Those scars allow us to be who we are - - - urging us to bleed truth- - -  so we can speed through the blues----- fueling us with the go, the giddy up to show, with each blow we grow,---and we Leggo our Ego -------just so the doubters we encounter shout louder and louder--- tho' they ain't got a clue as to who... or what we're about, or the journey of pain ballooning our veins with insane clout-------- and we wish upon a trouble free time to be near, yet it's far...- - - like the stars in the sky----...---sobering the view...while we drink the abuse------Still, the lit fuse burns the years till our fears cry.-____so hopefully, we learn from the scars when our tears dry.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

You

Every day just this time I wait for you with full zeal From my window to look you, To watch you. Because your presence Helps to make a radical change Within a few minutes in our Sultry environment, The fair beauty. I became impatient to look you And you came. You came like a tuber rose, Just unfolding her petals. Your dazzling white teeth Helps to make much attractive Your famous bit of smile. The vernal breeze often Try to remove the scurf skilfully From your prominent bosom And you often try to fix it. A premature tinny boy Trying to attract your attention, See your reddish eyes, seems You want to stroke his head-quarters. Uncle John has a peculiar habit Embrace an young girl. Your quick depart proves He is near-by.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Paint the Permanent

I stand before the canvas of my life
with the arsenal of brushes I've been armed with
choosing the paints with which I'll work

My will is to paint the permanent
No watercolors that can wash
My strokes will stain the canvas true

In my art studio my brushes fire
Salvos of sultry reds
Volleys of vivacious violets

But I don't always paint alone
Others there are that share the studio
And though our canvases won't always hang together
A small army of artists are we

Who paint our lives with care
For all the world to see
The hues we use only we may choose
Brazen and bold, subtle, or stark
Soldiers of our arts
Aiming and striking and painting our hearts out
Until we die
And go to the Gallery

But as for me
I stand before the canvas of my life
And the brush is in my hand


Details | Prose Poetry | |

What if I Kissed You

A kiss, a kiss was all I asked for, symbolizing my undying admiration of you as a whole, tainting your lips with ones that have whispered sweet nothings to your ears, ears that I made stand on their toes for the unexpected, becoming more apprehensive, but so much has happened in the past few days, if there's one thing love's taught me, it's that kisses tell a million tales. What if I kissed you right now?.. would it bring us any closer or would we just part like the red sea, would our worlds as is hereafter speak of nothing but the good and our love grow to be as unexplainable as she.. what if I kissed you.. affections expressed in a moment where pet names linger across lips unrelenting. Eyes meet and faces draw together while our minds orbit elliptical periods around one another, deem it a solar system, stop the music like i stole ya rhythm &say we lost ourselves in the heat of our own passion, passing days by enveloped inside ourselves slow dancing to the beat of our hearts. Holding you close like I'd die letting you go, thinking, what if I kissed you right now... Could we make clocks stop till judgment day and be lovers in and out of time like Angelou stated, would be morph to the brink of combustion just being overwhelmed by each others touch, or would we just be? Never afraid of lions tigers and bears, but I cant help but fear becoming so sick, so sick of love sons turned penetrating enomolies like your kisses which obtained keepsake as a copious mannerism in my everyday agenda.. &writing this while you're asleep gives me all the comfort of a fourth wall closure, kissing your forehead as you lay on my shoulder thinking if only i'd done that while you were awake. but she&I were unceasing, so the kisses we'd share were even more memorable than Victoria's best kept secrets...


Details | Prose Poetry | |

MTV's 16 and Pregnant

There's always an issue with teen pregnancy. And when watching "16 & Pregnant" on MTV,
still on the air, this "wanting-to-be-a-parent-at-an-early-age" thing has gone way too
far. This show's about teen girls, who got pregnant at the ages of 14,15,16,and/or 17.
They had their hopes and dreams in tact, but all of them have been put on hold. One of
those dreams included being a lawyer, doctor, or whatever. MTV's "16 & Pregnant" means the end of
one's so-called "social life." It means no more going to the movies, no more going to the
mall, no more going to exclusive parties, nothing. There was no way that these teen girls
were to be mothers at an early age. They needed to concentrate on getting their high
school diplomas and their college degrees, and then have kids. There was no way that these
teen boys were to be fathers at an early age, either. They needed to focus on their
futures, like going to college. Those teen couples, they should've used condoms. Now I
know why I never became a father at an early age, let alone 13 or 17. Some teen couples
should've waited until both teen parents had finished their education and they were
married. But despite all of the drama and the stress, I still think that all teen moms are
doing a good job, raising their children. And if "16 & Pregnant" were to stay on the MTV
network for at least two (2) more seasons, that would be great, but teen pregnancy has got
to stop. No children until after marriage.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

trying to be a pimp

you keep  telling wat you got 
but really is what you got true
caused you keep bragging 
and say that you smashing 
but get over yourself

im not stupid 
and im shownuf an`t dumb
so you better coming again 
with what you saying
because you out of your mind

you probaly think thats cool 
but really its just plain pathic
are you trying to be a player
or are do you think its cute

how will you feel
if the other girl find out
will you be silent or will you deniyit
so what do exspect all of us to think
that is fun am=nd want us to ignore it 
and act like nun happened

well you know what
you gonna loose all the girls
that heart you are trying to play with
so you better pray and stop being 
    you 

 you is districting 
 you is hurting others 
 so you needs to go and 
 you will be nomore


Details | Prose Poetry | |

We'll make love like it's our last

Her touch has rendered me weak. 
I've lost the strength to speak 
And to fight the feeling. 
I lost control. 
My nails swept her cheek 
While she stayed there, kneeling. 
Her smile started to hum 
While my heart began to drum 
To the beat of her swaying. 
At last I'm whole. 
We couldn't keep from 
Each other, now we're laying 
And watching the sun lose size 
Hand in hand with closed eyes. 
The sun remains yonder. 
Our bodies' heat 
Continues to rise 
As we let our hands wander. 
Necking in the flowers, 
Minutes feel like hours 
But time's still flying too fast. 
We're both complete. 
This night is ours. 
And we'll make love like it's our last.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

He was the broken Mirror

Standing with your back turned to me, I can still see that you are 5’11” with a short juice cut that is just cute enough for me to notice. With a smile that can bright up all three galaxies. With the most desirable hugs and laughs that kept me motivated to go through all the nails and hail just to see you at the end of the bow. With a personality like yours, you needed not an extra piece, for your beauty was 100 plus and then some. But who are you? Who were you? Who told you it was okay for you to disappear? Did you not think I need you? Well, I do, indeed need your shadow at least! 

You were my shine in the rain and my warmth in the blizzard. You were very much needed. Please I ask that you return with a response of none. You set me apart from the world, as I set you apart from my soul. I am just glad I kept a little dignity so I have not to die in despair. You disappointed me to the point where I trust not a spirit that brushes my essence. I believe you cursed me you fortunate jackass. You came and destroyed what I said not to be ever destructible. You thought you were the light when I specifically said you were my polish only. How dare you be conceited? I never said you were my world, whereas when I was with you I never conformed so I do indeed thank you. 

Standing with your back against the wall and facing me I now see you are 3’11” with a south fade cut that is just ugly enough for me to notice. With a smile that can dim hell. With the most unpleasant hugs and laughs that kept me unprovoked to survive the snowflakes and drizzles just not to see you at the end of the road. With a personality like yours, you needed an extra piece of beauty plus 100 and then some. But who are you? Who were you? Who told you it was okay for you stand in my presence? Did you think I need you? Well, I do, indeed need you to take your shadow and vanish.

I live only for God, and then I live for me.  Who said I need you to reach the stars, when I have God to take me to the next galaxy.

JazzieAnn Brown   10/17/12


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Behind it all

What I feel inside is something I usually hide
No one sees the tears behind my smile,
the sadness behind the jokes
or the pain behind my eyes

What I think about is for me to know
and for everyone else, just a question
I don't show emotions, so everyone thinks  I'm fine
Even though there's so much more then the happy girl

On the outside, everything is fine
But once you look inside...
You'll see where the pain comes from
But you won't be able to tell, behind my angel smile 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Little Big Man

I was always the little guy, 
Picked on for my size, 
Pushed and prodded in the halls, 
Cowered to nothing by their calls, 

They threw rocks at me every day, 
So I would leave early on my way, 
And wore two coats with hoods, 
Rocks only striking when I stood, 

Sometimes they'd throw boulders, 
And they glanced off my shoulders, 
And then I would come back in pain, 
With yesterdays tear stains, 

Once they crippled me for days, 
Hitting my legs, oh what pains, 
But then my dad took me in, 
And I grew into a young man, 

And two years later I returned, 
And now the tables were turned, 
You see I grew a foot taller, 
And no longer was I smaller, 

I visited those who threw stones, 
And none of them had grown, 
As I did those past two years, 
And I couldn't pay back the tears, 

For I knew their sudden plight, 
They were too small to fight, 
But they soon left my brother alone, 
This was the gift I gained from stone, 

So from bullied to protector I moved, 
And the little ones all approved, 
Of the new big friend they now had, 
And how I stopped those bullying cads.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Lies

I wake up in the morning, The smell of your perfume lingering on my skin, I roll over to see if your body still lay there, & I realize everything I loved vanished. I just have these images and scents stuck in my head, I have everything you ever gave me packed away, I look through it again and again each day. Trying to piece the puzzle together, & figure out why we drifted apart. I want to know if you still think about me like I think about you, I want to know if you still have the things I made and gave to you. I just wish I could stop smelling you, Stop thinking about you, Just everything about you brings me to my knees, & I am begging you please, Please just let me forget you. I wake up the next morning and realize, Everything about you was lies.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

You've got skeletons in your closet I've got hearts

No one does it better than I.
Be they outgoing or a touch shy.
And to sit and think about it now,
And I tend to really wonder how
I got in the business of stealing hearts.

Whispers of a life draw them in.
Sweet smiles and laughter keep them pinned.
And in an instant, I think we could be.
And then I remember we're dealing with me.
Trapping souls forever is a tricky art.

I've never set out to hurt a soul,
But when I leave, they're never whole.
And I sulk for two or three.
And then I move, 'cause I'm me.
In the end, I break them apart.

Falling in love is never my plan.
But then again, such a dashing man.
And I guess I have a charming way.
And I guess I make them want to stay.
Is there ever an end to what I start?

I've never asked for all these hearts.
I was searching for the missing parts.
And then I wake up one day and see.
And then realize it's not meant to be.
When composing love, I'm your Mozart.

I'll come into your life, and make you fall.
I'll take your heart, I'll take it all.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Teenage Love 9: TNG--The Next Generation

Once again, young love has affected the lives of all teenagers (teen boys and teen girls). It 
looks like this type of love is going to pass on to another generation of teenage lovebirds. And 
even as I speak, young love is going to continue growing in not just the U.S. of A., it's growing 
everywhere, including Japan. But fortunately for all teenage lovebirds, it's actually a good thing 
for them, especially when all teen boys and teen girls started being interested in each other. It 
seems that once those teen lovebirds enter adulthood in the near future, even after finishing 
high school and/or college, young love is going to affect the lives of another bunch of 
teenagers; even before the year 2020. Young love among all teenagers is going to continue 
growing for a long time and it's going to pass on to another generation of teenage lovebirds. 
And not only that, this type of love is also going to continue growing for another generation 
after generation, after generation, after generation. And the next thing everybody knows, their 
p[arents are still going to be happy about it. The greatest thing about young love is that not 
only are both teen couples (a teen boy and a teen girl) going to stay togrther for a long time, 
even before and after marriage, they're going to tell their grandchildren the following: how they 
met, why they fell in love with each other, their first date, and that kinda stuff. It loks like 
teenage love is going to continue to pass on to another generation after generation, after 
generation, after another generation. And if young love among al teen couples continue to have 
impact on their loves, there's no telling what great thing might happen next.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Teenage Love 19: 2010-present

When it comes to young love, it's a beautiful thing for young people from around the world. 
And when it comes to teen boys and teen girls falling in love with each other since the day they 
met, it's like fireworks popping in the sky. Their moms and dads are either happy about it or 
inapproving or whatever. It seems to everybody that most relationships among all teenagers 
might even last to either 72 hours or a lifetime. That's a really long time, but then, if these two 
young lovebirds want to stay together, even until their high school reunions, then that's fine. 
Sometimes love will make young men and/or young women do some silly things or whatever, 
but love doesn't; it's just an emotional feeling for teen boys and teen girls combined. Their 
parents (the moms and the dads) should also know what their lives were like when they were 
teenagers, especially since the day they fell in love with each other. Young love has 
revolutionized the year 2010 and it'll revolutionize the future of all of the would-be teen 
couples. This is starting to get very interesting. It looks like the junior/senior high school years 
will be with all of the wound-be-then teen love birds for the rest of their natural lives. All 
relationships among all young people will not just continue to increase every single day, but no 
matter what the circumstances of young relationships or whaterer, it'll seem that day in and 
day out, all of the young lovers (all teen boys and all teen girls) will always have love for each 
other, and their parents are very happy about it. And if young love continues to grow and grow 
by the time the year 2025 arrives, there's no telling what beautiful thing might happen next.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Weeds

Eating the weeds from the grass you slept in last night.
Don't look down or you'll fall from the moon.

Can you pick yourself up?
can you make it home?
Jump, and hope god will save you.

No faith.

No G.O.D

Just you

Bruised and rotting
You make it seem easy

Dream in the fields of all those yesterdays
and pick the weeds for the hope of  tom marrow


Details | Prose Poetry | |

DAD'S DAY FISHING'

Dad what's this medal in your hand,my you do look grand...It was a swirling day 
in early May and the weather was wild as over the bridge ran the dancing 
child.The rotting plank an unnoticed trap as the youngster slipped and dropped 
through the gap.The tall teenage scout hearing the cry dived without a care or 
doubt.The Thames tide was running strong,the flailing child carried swiftly 
along.The lad swam on and on his strength fading and almost gone but with a 
final burst as the weir drew near,the rescued tot was soon in her parents 
arms,held dear.
Dad is this the medal in your hand,my you do look like a hero grand.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fabric Flowers

Slender yellow petals 
Fit perfectly into a fabric bud
All placed neatly on velvet stems
Searching for roots in a grass filler
No sun to reach, they bloom to a white wash ceiling
No scent to inhale, the artificial spritz wore off
Arranged picture perfect 
Never to die but to stand behind museum glass
Fake beauty among the immortal


Details | Prose Poetry | |

And I despise this house

The grasp is choking, hard, and cruel 
	The roofs are limited yet wide. I am the servant to this place. 
Her burning gaze sears through my eyes. 
“You shall despise this house.” 

Never to return to here. This foundation built on itself. 
 Raised to sky with other hands, with elements of life. 
Another breath - two more to hear, a shriek that is my name 
And to the gaze I whisper softly, 
“I shall despise this house.” 

I am the builder of this place. 
With arms held up by strings. My eyes waver across the fleeting ground. 
Trembling as I see. The whole of the world moves through me in blurs, 
When its distinct colors form to light. With clutched fingers on the rails, they make
My ears ring from the sound. I await the end on the last stair. 
And I despise this house


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Sizing Up the Enemy

Before commiting to battle,
A wise warrior reviews the odds,
Determines the likelyhood of success,
And judges accordingly...

In my younger, gang years,
I at times deviated from this basic logic...
Such as the time I and fellow member,
Barry Bernstein (knicknamed "Noodles the Shiv")
Not for his propensity to sit Shiva,,
But for his propensity to be the first
To introduce his gravity-knife,
Into the melee, taking it to a whole new level,
Generally one the opposition declined to accept,

Well, we had been taken by two new "blind" dates
to a movie on Long Island, and afterwards to a nearbly pizzeria,

Our typical garb in those days was leather jackets,
With cut off denim jacket adorned with chains and iron crosses,
A sort of motorcycless Hells Angel's Wanna-Be,

Well we were bothering no one,
But a nearby table with 7 or 8 "greasers",
Were taking great joy at insulting my long hair,
Referencing me to some sort of Indian,
With some "impolite" remarks about Barry's nose...

We listened to this for a while,
Until one remark set me off,
Wisdom, odds, all went out the window,
I removed my garrison belt,
(We, the "Gors", required everyone to
carry switchblades or gravity knives,
with gattison belt buckles sharpened
to razor status)
I wrapped the belt around my hand,
And slowly walked over to their table,
Brain dead, perhaps, but a good
Premonition of a Clint Eastwood movie,

"You got something to say?"
I spat out threateningly.
They sat in shock, silent,
"You wanna take me on?"
Silence.
Another moment of hard looks, by me.
And they shuffled out, mumbling.

I went back to my pizza...
suddenly aware of my insanity...
This there town,
not mine...
The nearest Gors were 25 miles away.
There were no cell phones then.

Slowly, a crowd was gathering outside,
They had reinforcements they didn't even need,
I saw pipes, chains, baseball bats,
Trash cans, they were only short
a Battleship...
We were dead!

At last, one of the girl's mothers pulled up
in her stationwagon, to take us home,
I suggested to Barry we walk slowly to the car,
As though we were prepared to fight.
We got into the station wagon just as
Garbage cans, lids, and other projectiles
flew our way...
The mother said, "Gee, I wonder what's
wrong with those kids?"
I was never so happy to see a brain-dead
parent before.
It was the "Great Gors Escape"
And this tale is unadorned.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

HIV & AIDS

HIV and AIDS…
A world epidemic filled with pain through pleasure that allowed you to open your 
legs and let him put it in…
You were wet, dripping with sweat, it didn't matter what he had at the time 
because your mind was to busy thinking about the pleasure it would soon seek 
not peaking into the future which now links you to this incurable disease called 
HIV…
You loved him enough to let him thrust in and out of you, to let him burst inside of 
you, defiling your body attacking your tissue. 
Now you wish that one moment in the past a decision you made that will forever 
would not have been made. 
You wish that kiss that lead to that touch that lead to your bodies hormones 
sudden rush had not occurred
 And it’s absurd to think if your thinking as hard as your thinking now that maybe 
WOW… 
you could have prevented this whole thing from transpiring 
and bombarding your life with the strife you must now endure. 
Since there is no cure. 
But it’s to late. 
You can’t undue fate
 yo you messed up with just one mistake. 
And you can’t act like it didn't happen because it has
And for the rest of your life you’ve got to live with that…