Best 8Th Grade Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best 8Th Grade poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of 8th grade poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for 8Th Grade poems, articles about 8Th Grade poems, poetry blogs, or anything else 8Th Grade poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:

Poems are below...



New 8Th Grade Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best 8Th Grade poems are below this new poems list.

late night thoughts from the 8th grade by Kenyon, Ema
Bullying in Schools by Ulyssa Vinarta 8th Grade by Munich, Lynette
Influence by Crismarie Perdomo 8th grade by Munich, Lynette
Fear by Victoria Cloin 8th grade by Munich, Lynette
A Cry in the Dark by Thomasia Mack 8th grade by Munich, Lynette
Lost by Jason Feria 8th grade by Munich, Lynette
Punitive by Cristie Rivera 8th grade by Munich, Lynette
Hope, Faith and Love by Crismarie Perdomo 8th grade by Munich, Lynette
Fear at Home by Justin Thompson 8th grade by Munich, Lynette
Hope in Darkness by John Caleb Martinez 8th grade by Munich, Lynette

View all new 8Th Grade Poems

The Best 8Th Grade Poems

Details | 8Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Spiritual warfare begins

A sad state our government has become today 
in this awful news that just pushes the boat out further 

As our democracy for one protecting our children 
Why it is even under attack beats me up inside moral grounds 
this should not even be considered under the harshest circumstances 
because it's a humane act to love our little ones bless them with life 
not kill them shows savages craving suffering judgemental fools 

Tells me all that I need to know about corrupt politics 
under an non democratically elected leadership


Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2018


Details | 8Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

My Bio Poem from Caren

Caren
Creative, Empathetic, Respectful, Helpful
Wife of Joe, mother of Angela, Tracy, and Susie, 
Mother-in-law of Josh and Andy,
Grandma of Emily, Cali, Molly, Tony, Jack, Josie, Lucy, Daisy, Max and Johnny.
Lover of children, dogs, and family.
Who feels joy, excitement, and amused.
Who needs people, work, and love.
Who gives happiness, soft words, and tender touches.
Who fears violence, anger, and rage.
Who would like to see the world assimilate as one.
Resident of Kansas
Krutsinger



Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018


Details | 8Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Thwarting the Bullies

Shelly said that Darlene said that
Tina said that you are an ignorant fool.
So?
Jinny said that Zinna was rolling her eyes at you.
Farina said you have cooties.
So?
Do you want to hear what Allie said about you?
No, thanks.
Minnie said….
“I don’t want to hear it,” I tell her, skipping away.
“You are a poppie butt!” she yells after me.
Thank you, I yell back.
“You are CRAZY!” she hollers, angry now.
“THANK YOU!” I yell louder.
“They were talking trash about you,” my friend tells me.
Wait a second. This is my friend?
“Are you going to talk to them about it?”
No.
Are you going to fight them?
I throw back my head and laugh.
Once I mastered the skip away, the stay away and the thank you
Bullies had no power over me.
They started bothering others.
I try to teach my friends
Bullies will leave you alone
If they don’t think you are getting mad or sad.
Being so danged light skinned .
I had a terrible time mastering
Those telling pink cheeks.
I had to practice with
Trusted friends,
By letting them calling
Me names and practicing
My strategies.
The Keep Away.
The Skip Away.
The Thank You.
Believe me,
I now have it right.
No one bothers
Me now.
It’s simply
No
Damned 
Fun.


Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018


Details | 8Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Throwing Stones

Our distant cousin murders the English language every single time she trills.
WOYt is white, and Blah is black, and her long A’s can barely maneuver these hills.
AmbyEance means ambulance, and her R’s are a pure musician’s nemesis.  
Uh-oh, here she comes, hiding behind a language couple, and she’s fully dressed.
Has she seen us? This cousin who has no idea that she’s a murderess through and through?
Oh, hi darling. We’d invite you to stay, but there’s only room in this restaurant for me and him, and these other two. 



Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018


Details | 8Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Relatives Re-inact A Romantic Reconciliation

Oh, yes, Darling! Please meet me up the street, in fifteen minutes, right past the old tan house with that porch, bamboo.
We need to talk about things, you and me, without your mean relatives, and that includes your cousin Ted Stew.
I’d gladly trade this car for a completely untarnished marriage certificate, cleaned out of the day-old flu.
But, fiance’, dearest, you have yet to show me your love nest, your side honey, or your super-secret tattoo,
So now that you realize I might cost you money, you love me forever, and think you can let go and forget the Queen of Vooody-Voo- Doo?
Sure, Sweet Darling. Being pre reasonable, I would certainly like to review our marriageable status, and begin trusting you anew.
Of course, we had better hurry, so we get this trust thing sorted, and my family decides to re-include you,
I do not think any love-you-forever ceremony, fancy hall, or wedding vows I will seriously pursue.
If you decide to take the challenge, there on the steps wearing their juiciest smiles, are my mother, Grandma Kell and cousin Lou.
Sure, they do all have guns, permits, frying pans, and razors. Confidentially, they’re in a hum dinger of a stew about you too.
What more can I do, Sugar Bear?  I’ve led you right to them, right up these pretty blue and white steps, and frankly, honey, it’s the best thing I could ever do.
So saying, I guess all my relatives are ready to talk and slap and pinch and punch, and fight and scrap, and kick, because they’re sort of mad you made me so blue.
Bye, Sweetie. I’m off for the weekend with my new honey, Rick, a gentle, kind, God-fearing man, who doesn’t want to stick around to see what they’re going to do.




Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018


Details | 8Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Death's Game

Death’s Game

I take your hand
You hold onto to mine
As our week comes to and end
I thought you’d be fine
But in the wake of death
No one is safe
One small call
And it causes us to shake
You lay there
Not able to talk
You skin is pale
You eyes are too
But I still say my final goodbye
And I give my last hug to you
My family is frantic
Your wife is insane
But that’s just how death
Plays the game


Copyright © Cassidy June | Year Posted 2018


Details | 8Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Society

I was in second grade when I started comparing myself to other girls.
I asked myself, “why am i not her?” “why are my thighs bigger?” “why can’t i have her blonde hair that seems to flow in the wind when boys chase her around the playground, while i sit underneath the slide and wait for my turn that never seems to come?

i was nine years old when i first started hating what i saw staring back at me in the mirror. i thought my body was too big, that my legs were too muscular. that my teeth were too crooked. that i was too me, and not enough of her. 

i was in fifth grade when i first learnt what the word “annoying” meant and what a “diet” was. i also learned that i should just keep my mouth shut, because why open it when i have nothing useful to say and nothing beautiful to show?

i was 13 when i first cried in the bathroom at school because a boy liked blonde hair better than brown and i was 13 when i first started starving myself because i couldn't bear for another calorie to be added to my oh-so-heavy 100 pound me. 

when i was in 8th grade, i started to measure my self worth based off of what others thought of me. if a guy looked at my ass, then i was worth something. at school dances, my friends and i, we used to count the number of boys that asked us to dance. we’d go to someone’s house afterward and giggle and compare the amount. we’d feel dignified if we were the one with the most. like it proved something. it decided who was the most popular. the most beautiful. 

when i was in 8th grade, i also learned what slitting my wrists meant and i realized that it was easy to take away my pain. i learned what it felt like to have your dignity striped away and have one of your best friends leave you. i was told i wasn't good enough. i was told i wasn't pretty enough. i was told i was annoying, that i disappointed my family, that i didn't deserve life. 
so i believed them. 
and i almost ended the most precious gift that i have ever been given. 

and my freshman year of high school, i didn't only let myself enter a new school but i also let another person enter me. i thought that because he wanted me, i was beautiful. i traded my integrity for another’s lust. my innocence was striped away by a boy who didn't even know my last name.

the summer of my senior year, i was raped. a boy decided that he was selfish enough to take a piece of me that wasn’t his to take. i cried. i smoked. i drank to forget. but nothing could eat the pain. 
nothing eases the pain felt because of assault .
nothing eases the pain felt because of society. 
nothing eases the pain felt because of small-minded people who believe that some are better than others. 
nothing eases the pain. 

This Poem Is For All People Struggling With Society. 
Remember: You Are Society. Don’t Struggle With Yourself. 


Copyright © Maura Webb | Year Posted 2015


Details | 8Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Band

She steps up to the plate –smiling
The smile that fills you with hatred and embarrassment
When so often it is present.

This is no laughing matter.

The unliked by the team,
But still the needed captain.

The field is watching, waiting.
Bat up, she stances.
Eyes narrow.
The players tense –mechanically.
The pitch from empty space,
Creation of the batter’s mind,
Carefully crafted to tie the game.
The crowd groans.
She swings.
And off goes the game.

She motions to first.
The ball whizzes through the air-

First the infielders –chasing –running –pacing
Staccato across the red.
But they are no match –the ball continues.
She accelerates to second.

The inner-outfielders, the bridge, take over,
As if squeaks and honks can stop it.
They chase, to fill the empty space, but relent.
She crescendos to third.

The far-outfielders, at last,
The most important players of all.
Long, deep strides cover much ground,
But they cannot compare.

The ball is gone.
She made it home.
There is silence in the field.

And the crowd goes wild.

 

(In 8th grade, I really didn’t care for my band teacher, but loved band.)


Copyright © Anna Wright | Year Posted 2016


Details | 8Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Grandma Hearts Grandma

I never met Grandpa
so I do not know
if he ever went dancing
or stubbed his toe.
But I do know
one thing-
Grandma loved him.

And Grandma died
when was in 8th grade.
So we didn't talk
I am afraid.
But I do know
one thing-
Grandpa loved her.


Copyright © Lisa Stoffer | Year Posted 2012


Details | 8Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

DAY ONE

Day One, so on and so forth 
That's about how we met 
Took him away from another girl
Soon learned the word regret!

Day Two . . .  wasn't any better
Not like I thought it'd be
That selfish girl came round
And took him back from me!

Well sister let me tell you 
That guy belongs to me    
He's just so immature
So now we're on Day Three!

Thirty days rolled by 
Before I think I knew 
I'd passed another Day One
Rolled up in number Two

Finally! . . . I woke up 
Just as the alarm rang
I'll be late for 8th grade
So up and out I sprang!










Copyright © Judy Konos | Year Posted 2013


Details | 8Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Love is Like A Bee's Sting

Love is like a bee's sting
It's sting is the reminder
The bee is buxxing in my ear
It lands on my nose, I hear it saying "Be Careful". My eyes focus on its stinger.
I taste that its sweet honey is really poision.
Thats what love is, love tastes so sweet but it can be poisionous like a bee stinging you on the nose
A touch thats the first part of love. My first real boyfriend Josh can tell you, in NewYork, at school  in an 8th grade c lassroom.
He could remind you of the first time we met
The bee flies off to the flower buzzing
"After all that time"
#Love, does the world reaaly need to know?
Bee, are you talking to me?
The fresh flowers died, but yet it still
stood straight into the ground
"Honey" is a name called for a certain special someone. Honey is also the product of a bee.
A couple on a bench are fighting, and soon one was off flying away.
Little Court, lost in her emotions
love is going to be a payback
The future is not going to be a place of love
it will be full of hatred
I'll have to forget all of the things I've already forgotten
J'taime
the stars make their own wishes
Love is worse than a bees sting


Copyright © Courtney Vinch | Year Posted 2014


Details | 8Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Pain in my Heart by Pamela Espinal 8th grade

Pain in my heart,
from the day you left.
Thinking that you would be next to me soon
but I guess it was too good to be true.
Why is it when I say it's going to be a good day,
I truly know it's not,
especially without you?

Pain in my heart,
feeling weak when I think of you.
Just wanting to break down and cry
but not wanting to make a show.
It's true what everyone says,
how a smile can hide pain
but this pain is too strong
for me to hide.

Pain in my heart,
waiting to hold you in my arms
but  never got the chance.
Hoping there was no harm
but there was,
for me.

I know you're in a better place,
that's all that counts
but I still wish I could see your face.

Pain in my heart,
but you're happy in heaven
while I'm not well.
Trying to snap out of this misery.
depression isn't me.
Life may have ended for you
but love will not!


Copyright © Lynette Munich | Year Posted 2012


Details | 8Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Fear at Home by Justin Thompson 8th grade

Sitting on the garage floor
I hear a noise right by the door.
I'm scared to see what it can be
and out comes a snake crawling
right toward me.
I screamed in fear and yelled at
Granny.
She's the reason it got in
the pantry.
Dad is angry and yelled at 
me. Now I'm punished with
no phone to speak.


Copyright © Lynette Munich | Year Posted 2012


Details | 8Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Accountability by Ulyssa Vinarta 8th grade

Andy was driving.
Caused a
Car crash
On the highway.
Unbelievable!
Now
That
A friend has
Been killed.
It has caused chaos
Leading him
Into
Taking responsibility for his own actions,
Yet, he still blames himself.


Copyright © Lynette Munich | Year Posted 2012


Details | 8Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Hope, Faith and Love by Crismarie Perdomo 8th grade

Through horrifying, death, sickness, poor and helplessness,
it is a scar the world will never heal from 
but you still have to have hope.
Is it faith?
The people we love die everyday.
Is hope what we fight for?
Hope is the only thing we have to survive.
Hope is the light that guides us.
When someone is missing a soul, you help and give them hope.
Hope is the joy of life.
Hope is the bird with wings to guide you if you're lost.


Copyright © Lynette Munich | Year Posted 2012


Details | 8Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Love and Fear by Julio Trujillo 8th grade

Was it love at first sight?
      You know I would fight.
Try to hold on,
      so our love won't be gone.

Should I love you or fear you?
     I guess I just want to hear you.
Stay near me,
    please don't leave me.

Love is what I fear.
   That's why I start to tear.
I wish you could hear my pain
   but either way, my heart will
remain the same.


Copyright © Lynette Munich | Year Posted 2012


Details | 8Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Toothpick wrists and gay thoughts

I was born 6 lbs. 9 oz. with blond hair and blue eyes. 
I was also born gay
I am anorexic. 
And you would think people would ridicule me for this instead of me being gay.
 Surely they would see how unhealthy it was and see that in comparison liking girls was no big deal. 
No, they applauded me complementing my toothpick wrists 
and porcelain bones peeking through my too thin skin. 
How could I not fall in love with my illness?
 Every calorie I counted 
and every pound I dropped made me feel prettier. Every meal I skipped, 
every sip I didn't take, got me closer to perfect. 
 Every day that I felt fainter  
was a day that I could celebrate being thin,
And forget that I was gay. 
Halfway through my freshman year 
I had come out, and recovered 
but 
By that same summer I relapsed. 
Riddled with anxiety and pain, I sought after an old friend who brought me comfort even in my own bruised skin, anorexia. 
Everyday I felt dizzier, was a day my mind could register the gay thoughts. 
Instead of spending time with my friends, I spent hours googling how many calories are in a stick of gum and how many calories you burn chewing that gum for an hour. It burns 11 calories while the gum is only 10. 
-1 
I became so obsessed with that negative number, because something in my mind had changed. 
Being gay stayed in the back of my mind   And as the number on the scale took its place in my focus
Anything I gained soon became guilty cries 
Anything I lost became a celebratory glass of water. 
And I got lost in the victory, because who doesn't like to win?
In between my nonexistent meals I watched anorexia documentaries like church sermons. 
Not deterred by how unhealthy they were,
but entranced by how their bodies  were so sharp and how they seemed so frail. 
middle school was rough, I was suicidal and on my way to being under weight
In 8th grade things looked up 
But I never forgot how alone I felt 
Now I feel that feeling in my stomach
Stomach acid accompanied by small morsels of low calorie foods. 
A lot of times anorexia has a nasty side effect of depression. 
In Most cases one causes the other 
You feel depressed and not good enough so you starve yourself to feel better
Then comes the brief happiness of accomplishment 
Then tumbling fall of 
"What have I done to myself?"
So now I ask you, would you spend your days counting your calories just to see your bones?
Would you starve yourself to forget you were gay?
Would you lose yourself to be perfect?


Copyright © Ember Hines | Year Posted 2017


Details | 8Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

An Affective Disorder, the Doctor Said

No, Freddie can’t say he mourned when his father died and his father’s third wife found Freddie's number and gave him a call to give him the news. His father had been responsible, worked hard, saved his money, put Freddie and his brothers through college but when his mother died and all the boys had grown up and left home, his father disappeared. No forwarding address. After awhile Freddie didn’t think that much about him. So he was surprised when this widow he didn’t know called and told him his father had been hit by a truck that ran up on a sidewalk and flattened him. Declared dead at the hospital. 

Freddie didn’t mourn his mother either when she had died although he had spent two years taking her to the best doctors hoping one of them would save her from cancer, not realizing that back in those years there was nothing doctors could do for a cancer so severe and caught so late, certainly not the big-time surgeon who said that he could. He was number one at a teaching hospital and wanted to fatten his mother up so he could operate on her again so all the residents and interns could watch and learn from him as he attempted to do the impossible. 

His mother was terminal, the first doctor had said following the first of three operations two years earlier, but that doctor was an immigrant at a small hospital. There were bigger, better hospitals in Chicago and Freddie took her to the best in the city. Finally his mother, in her last days and when she weighed about 80 pounds, said, “No more operations.” She died two weeks later in the middle of the night right after Freddie had called the hospital to ask about her and heard the usual mantra, “Your mother’s vital signs are stable.” They never said she was dying.

But after the funeral Freddie sat for three hours and sipped Cokes in his apartment and watched a movie of his entire life run through his mind. Like Freddie's father his mother did everything a mother could do but she wasn’t any better affectively than his father had been although Freddie would bet no mother ever made better salami sandwiches. He ate three or four at a time and took them and everything else she did for him for granted. That’s what a mother was supposed to do. He was too smart to know better.

Freddie had been a kid reared in a neighborhood of immigrants. The other kids, by and large, had parents who drank too much, fathers who didn’t work, mothers who played canasta all day and let their kids make their own sandwiches if they could find something in the refrigerator. 

One kid had come to love sandwiches made with dill pickle slices and ketchup because that’s what he used to find in the fridge. There was always salami and liver sausage in Freddie’s fridge. In comparison, Freddie had it made but he was always too smart to know better. 

Besides Freddie, three other boys in his neighborhood went to college at a time in life when if kids went to college their parents had to have the money to send them because there were no loans and only geniuses got scholarships. The only jobs kids could get then were paper routes on bicycles and paper routes didn’t earn tuition. 

There were no fast-food restaurants where a kid could at least earn minimum wage. In fact, there was no minimum wage. 

Freddie’s first job as a dishwasher in a greasy spoon paid forty cents an hour and as many hamburgers as he wanted for lunch. He always ate at least three with a milkshake. The owner’s wife didn’t like that but Freddie didn’t get fired. He was 14 at the time. It was the summer between 8th grade and high school. Who knows what they would have had to pay an adult to wash dishes. Probably a dollar or more an hour. Big money for unskilled labor at that time. Businesses paid what they needed to get the job done and often that wasn’t very much.

All the material things in life a kid could reasonably expect Freddie’s parents made certain he had on time. But otherwise they were inadequate as parents although neither they nor Freddie knew it at the time. As Freddie told the doctor much later in life, he never recalled being hugged or kissed by either one of them although perhaps as an infant one or both of them might have done that, his mother especially, he thought, because she would smile once in awhile. But hugging, kissing or smiling was not really his father’s style. 

It wasn’t until much later in life, as a husband and father himself, that Freddie came to realize that when it came to love—real love--he was missing some component other people seemed to have. Not just romantic love because sex always got in the way of that. But other kinds of love—what parents felt for children, what brothers and sisters felt for each other, what grandparents seemed to feel for everyone. Freddie didn’t feel anything like that, never had and thought it was odd when he witnessed demonstrations of love in other families. Worse, he didn’t know something was missing in him until very late in life. But it was too late then. What had happened had happened and in some respects Freddie realized he was lucky to have been sent to an institution rather than a prison. 

He hoped one of these doctors would be able to figure out what was the matter with him but all they had said so far was that he had an affective disorder since childhood. But even if they could help him with that it would make no difference, really. He would never get out of the institution and besides, even if he did, where at his age could he go? His kids didn’t want to see him because they had found their mother. 

At times, usually in the middle of the night, Freddie felt like apologizing to everyone involved. Almost. He had more sessions to go with the doctor. Maybe something would kick in and he’d start writing letters. The doc said he’d give him the stamps if he ever wanted to do that. But Freddie didn’t feel like apologizing yet and he really wouldn’t know where to send the letters even if some day he wanted to write them. What the hell could he possibly say? Sorry wouldn’t help anything as far as he was concerned. Besides, most of the time he wasn’t sorry and he thought he should be by now. 


Donal Mahoney


Copyright © Donal Mahoney | Year Posted 2017


Details | 8Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Poem from an 8th grader with a crush contest

Dear Michael,

As I sit daily in back of you
I find myself melting into my seat
I have noticed you are fairly new
I anticipate the day we formally meet.

I heard you moved here to live with your dad
And that you live on the block next to mine
I was hoping my note would make you glad
I admire your smile at lunch when it shines.

I want you to know that this class can get mean
Especially with those punks in the third row
I advise you if you join a sports team
They will stop their comments and respect you so.

Since the 8th grade dance is very soon
I was wondering if you had a date
I have English with you at a quarter to noon
Please write back I will certainly wait.

By: Sabina Nicole



Copyright © Sabina Nicole | Year Posted 2012


Details | 8Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Misconception of Misery

It only started as a misconception, a misunderstanding
then like grass fed rain, it grew...grew into this
A eulogy, maybe this could be it
about you? For once, this is about me
How can it be...how can it be?
Dreaming, a dreamer am I
I've been dreaming since I was five
What age am I? 13?
Sorry, I felt like I was just a little older
I've had a rough life to live through
Lately I've been on edge, a steady step away
from jumping headfirst off a bridge, off a ledge; yeah
My life, a disarray of scattered promises
some broken, some kept
Emptiness, sorrow; all I seem to understand
everything has swept under me too fast
and I have nothing to hold onto to help me stand
Help me, I'm stuck on a roller coaster
I've had to teach myself how to react, how to attack
how to be stronger than me
while an unconscious thought screams, "WHERE'S MY DAD AT?"
but unknown training left me to mimic
the things I've seen on TV or the reality set before
Chameleon boy
and where are my parents: working and away
Unknown and unheard of has my father been 
till I was out of kindergarten
No one told me anything yet again I asked no questions
maybe I was just too young to understand
like a good boy, I just fell in line
while the innocence took over, leaving the oblivion
and my mother..somehow I've found 3 more women to call mom
They've treated me as part of their pack, their family
while in my own home, I'm the black sheep
while in my own home, I'm the outcast
When did home turn into high school part 2?
I shouldn't have to teach myself anything
I shouldn't have to change colors to satisfy anyone
so why do I feel I need to be a rainbow to be noticed
cause I'm so sick of being clear, of being me
How can it be, how can it be?
All I've ever known up until 4th grade was knowledge
knowledge only got me so far
I didn't know the stage beyond friend
I didn't know how to make friends, how to be one
Socially awkward, is this my disease
Misguided and divided I am
Is this what all Geminis face or is it just me
Did I remind her so much of my father
that my punishment is to live in my island of a room
and never return to shore
Everyone wonders why I'm the odd one, why I'm the distant one
why not since I know I'll never be enough
I know I've been more than a little harsh
I might have everything all wrong
but have you ever been taken away from your father
kicking and screaming while he stands defeated
switched between parents, back and forth
switched between states, off and on for years on end
Growing up yet you are absolutely oblivious
the only thing you know to be true is the sky is blue
the only thing you know to be true is the one place you hate
From 4th grade on, I've been a vortex
spiraling down, becoming gradually worse 
guess where I'm bordering now
In 5th grade, a poor reaction from confused feelings
lead to a breakdown and a halting of tears I couldn't stand
6th grade, I was a walking time bomb
fueled by rage, quelled by romance but all was fleeting
all I saw was red
All my judgments went so poorly
and every other day I hadn't the strength to move on
almost becoming a part of the in-crowd
that little kid dream of fitting in
Isn't it fun, caring so much while losing yourself ends friendships
funny, I never wanted to leave that year behind
I had my childhood friends, a girlfriend
I knew these people for years, I was content
until I went home, packed my bags
not breathing a word of goodbye
giving up everything it took years for me to have
whisked away to a new life
a new life I want nothing apart of 
7th grade, what a maze
I stood on my heels, pacing, a loser
Fitting in with people I know I'll never see again
showing a side of me I never knew existed
while becoming confused with a different attitude
towards this new life I've been chosen to live
education still my dictator
but that summer changed everything
I grew into myself, making new friends along the way
somehow I was someone everyone claimed to love
8th grade is where my life started, apparently my best year
Popularity, I reached my goal; I was thinking for myself
finally feeling like I was more than a face
but everything fell apart too quickly
Everywhere I looked up, we had to pack and move
there was too many questions and stress
while I just wanted to survive the year yet I survived nothing
Like my walls, I withered and crumbled
Why must I always be taken away from the things
the things I love the most
It's like breathing in cancer to remember
so I try to forget but I meet irreplaceable people
yet I know we'll grow of touch
Life just loves to see me suffer
Insanity is just sitting there, laughing away
while music tries to calm me down
with the aid of friends, the people I've come to know and love
and the one I'm chasing after
Somehow through the dark clouds
I find beauty in the unseen life of the world
I care too much, fall too hard, love too seriously
I try to be more than myself when I really just want to be...me
I admit I'm selfish yet selfless
This life has proven an obstacle I cannot conquer
My heart is strong but my bones are weak
I think too much
and all I've been through just made me older
just made me wish for a better life
wish for something beyond this
yet I just needed some relief tonight
from my shattered wasteland of uncharted feelings
Let the waves calm to halt and the sunset fall
A tale for time to read and weep for the misery of...me


Copyright © Crow thepoet | Year Posted 2016


Details | 8Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Dog's Life


Puppy

Lovable, Friendly

Frolicking. Jumping. Chewing.

Ball. Cat!  Bed. Window.

Sleeping, Pattering, Growling

Loyal, Loving

Dog


Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018


Details | 8Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Cry in the Dark by Thomasia Mack 8th grade

Why do I keep feeling this way?
Like I'm in a dark place.
I have a great life,
but I feel like somethings is missing.
so my heart keeps twisting.

I feel like the dark place I'm in
won't let the light in.
Nobody else but me,
loneliness....how could this be?
Can anybody hear me...
please don't fear me.

I need somebody by my side.
It feels like a scary ride.
Should I hide from the  light?
No! It doesn't seem right.


Copyright © Lynette Munich | Year Posted 2012


Details | 8Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

your a special teacher

A Special Teacher
Teachers come and go
but every so often one comes along
that you'll always remember
one who makes learning an adventure...
and who can still remember
what it's like to be young
and growing up...
the kind who can make you
want to be the very best you can be...
Someone you can really talk to,
who really cares
what happens to you...

That person is YOU!

Miss Benavides (my 7th grade language arts teacher)
and 
Mr. Gonzalez (my 8th grade math teacher)


Copyright © audrey castaneda | Year Posted 2010


Details | 8Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Influence by Crismarie Perdomo 8th grade

From the perspective of the main character....

I drink so I don't feel left out. I
Need to follow the cool and not the lame. Your
Feelings do not mean anything to me. Your
Life is not yours but theirs.
Used you like a dog and you follow obediently.
Everyone has a fun time and you follow and pretend. I
Need to follow to be cool.
Crash! Wake up! The
End.


Copyright © Lynette Munich | Year Posted 2012


Details | 8Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Loneliness by Ulyssa Vinarta 8th grade

Loneliness......
depressed, alone
nobody to
talk, walk,
spend, mend with

Feeling sad,
mad, glad,
facing memories
mentally lost.


Copyright © Lynette Munich | Year Posted 2012