Long Teen Poems
Long Teen Poems. Below are the most popular long Teen by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Teen poems by poem length and keyword.
In the quiet hush of the night’s embrace, Where stars ignite and secrets bloom, I pen verses dipped in moonlight, A symphony of longing and tender grace.
Your eyes, twin galaxies of wonder, Hold constellations yet uncharted, And within their depths, I find solace, A celestial map to navigate love’s terrain.
Your laughter, a melody woven by angels, Echoes through the corridors of my heart, Each note a promise of forever, A dance of souls in harmonious art.
Our fingertips brush like whispered secrets, Tracing constellations upon skin, And in that delicate touch, we discover, The universe conspiring for us to begin.
Love, a fragile bloom in the garden of time, Yet resilient as the ancient oak, Rooted deep, it defies storms and seasons, A testament to the magic we invoke.
So let our love be an epic poem, Written across the canvas of existence, In ink of stardust and passion’s fire, A tale whispered by the moon’s persistence.
After everything,
I just hope I’m not one of your regrets.
But you should have known
we weren’t going anywhere.
You should have known we were doomed
when your replies slowed
and my heart grew loud.
You should have known we wouldn’t last
when I smiled less
and pretended more.
You should have known it was ending
when I stopped asking why —
Because silence is louder than questions.
You should have known it was over
when we started borrowing happiness
from strangers.
You should have known we were beyond saving
when temptation no longer tasted like guilt.
You should have known we were finished
when my name burned on your tongue
and yours stopped feeling like home in mine.
You should have known
when I flinched from your touch
and didn’t reach back.
You should have known it was over
when you planned a future
that didn’t sound like us —
and I imagined one without you.
You should have known.
And I should have known
that silence doesn’t save love.
I tried.
You tried.
We tried.
But we cannot cross an ocean
on a bridge
that was never built for two.
so easy to fall, and so hard to break free
somehow as a child I knew
it was as if they knew my name before I had a clue
at 10 reading books about orphans
free from the church
the dignity of evil
nuns silently brought
the battle of addiction began without meaning
images crept into my head at ten
child orphans hooked on opiates
living on the street homeless
but somehow free
my time as a child skipped over
teen experimentation
no social life
and straight into motherhood
the first time I ran from myself
9 months of being a teen
happy, unknowing
thrown straight into postpartum trauma
with a child of an older man
who knew everything
gaslight dreams flickering
fading with every press
morphine drip, and 3 months asleep
surgical birth
I didn't hear her cries
asleep she was taken
my ship was sinking
bonds breaking silence
anger grew like a cancer
hurricane spiraling within
my fist at the end of the funnel
ready to blow
a target in the darkness
floating on hope
circled by the unseen voices
whispering my doom
seven years of a precious life
lost to me
“end it all”
“leave it all behind”
ashamed, grasping at threads
death refused to take me
shouting “fight with patience”
through the thick
the echoes lightyears away from my ears
20 years locked up as grown child
mentally fatigued
10 more years locked up in the standards
of what society calls marriage
an adult thing to do
pleading for help
from grandmother's psychology degree
with the words
“keep your mouth shut for your daughter's sake,
she needs both her parents”
I ran a 2nd time
chained to my abusers
demon bound chasing
with overbearing shouts
30 missed calls in a row
shaming me, nothing was ever the right thing
couldn't have me, so stole all that they could
and the only child I ever held
10 years of tears
angry and depressed
hating every new day
afraid of happiness
dreaming of death
unable to save my child
from barely escaping repeated
suicide attempts
kept away
stayed away
threatened by his constant
demanding
civil servants to tell me
no one could help
without a proper court installed judgment
hellraiser dug the chains in deep
waiting for me to succeed to the pain
that kept my nervous system alight with fire
Frankii <3 Fame
5-8-2024 1:11 am
Last night awakened with thoughts of him
How long has it has been, only
Yesterday …
First one I ever saw laid out
I sixteen, he nineteen, Viet Nam
Airborne …
Purple complexion seeping through under glass
I gaze on doll-like hair
Broomcorn …
His uniform perfect, tie straight
Blouse olive, at attention
Airborne …
No one else at the funeral home
Me and a girl friend too early for death
Careworn …
Dead before he hit the ground
Cut down by ground-fire first jump no longer
airborne ...
So many years now, forty-two,
awakened with thoughts of him,
Wind-borne …
Still see his body rigid attention
rumor wire for arm, died before his time
Soilborne …
Didn’t know him well, would he
still be here if not
Airborne …
Would we have smoked and talked about
women if he would be
reborn …
And what of Thua Thien, what now
monument, blood of airborne boys?
Golf course …
In those distant days of precious youth
When I roamed the woodlands and valleys
And trod the soft grasslands light of foot over
The cowslip verges my heart singing with the
Skylark soaring under wisps of watchful clouds
That witnessed my fitful searches for the love
Invading my boyhood mind heady and strong
As the red-rum honeysuckle sipping my senses.
I saw you there before I met you as in spirit you
Came to me morphed from all that was natural
In every shrub and plant and tree I held you in my
Mind as sacred treasure, the Holy Grail for a Knight
Templar, where we lay in cosy nooks beside the
Silent stickleback stream our skin touching soft as a
Dandelion our hearts quivering as an Aspen sapling
Your beautiful self surreal and serene as any dream.
Through golden fern meadows and purple foxglove
Gates we ran dizzy down the wood sorrel slopes
Roly-poly over wild garlic and daisy florets whispering
Forget-me-not promises rare as ghost orchids cowling
In the scrubby tufts and guarded by the dog violets we
Tickled each others’ chins with buttercups and there
I garlanded you my princess with peony sweet as scent
And thanked the Lord for your heavenly-blue love sent.
For you, the first to teach me poetry,
I wrote a little poem at age nine.
I don't remember writing any more
till I had you for English in ninth grade.
One day when we were talking at your desk,
I saw a single laminated sheet.
I took a closer look and realized
the childish cursive on the page was mine.
You'd saved "My Winter Poem" all those years
and brought it as my gift. I almost cried.
I smile now as I vividly recall
this scene from over fifty years ago.
As teacher and librarian, you earned
the praise of all. We recognized your love
of students, language, books, and our small school.
We knew how much you wanted us to learn.
If I had never told you how I felt,
beyond that day when I was just a teen,
I'd be without excuse, but I did claim
the opportunities to give you praise.
In our last conversation at a school
reunion just a few short years ago,
I told you how I often think of you
when choosing just-right words for poetry.
I recently shared memories of you
with others who held you in high regard.
We wiped our tears and said our last good-byes
to one who taught much more than books and rules.
Wish I, a journal of my days, had kept
from my teen years until the present time;
I'd have a way to view and intercept
each memory by date- a gift sublime.
Be able to flip back on pages bound;
recall those facts my mind, in time erased.
The story of my life would then be found
in written words- in real-time, be based.
A day, a week, a month, a year- review
the felt emotions then expressed each day;
for most of them, long gone or faded, flew
so far beyond what memories convey.
My journal- snapshot of each day that passed-
the good, the bad, and all those in between;
the story of my life, through words, recast-
to let what's known, what's buried, reconvene.
I hate the patriarchy
I hate that men have control over my body
I hate how I have to walk around the city knowing that being pretty is a justification for rape
And I hate that I have to always try and counter that by looking down
Not making eye contact
I hate that I have to act ashamed because some men think confidence is permission
I hate that if all my efforts fail it’s illegal for me to have autonomy in a decision that would change my life
I hate that even though men have no idea how it feels to live in fear they have the power to make fear my reality
They have the power to make fear all I know
They have the power to take my life from me
I hate that when they say they want to save “unborn children”
They mean they don’t want me to have a choice
But when the child is born, they won’t help pay for their food
They shame for struggling when money isn’t available
They shame teen mothers even when the mother was only walking home after a long day of school, when the mother never wanted anything to do with them
And they say it was the girl’s fault because her “clothes showed too much skin” and because “she looked at me, so I thought it was okay” and because “she never said no”
How could she say no
She was scared to fight back
Because in the patriarchy, a woman is a tool
A woman is not her own person
A woman can’t make her own decisions
Because she is not valued
I am used and I know it every day
I am 15 and I already worry because I know this could be me
I am 15 and I worry that my little sister’s life could be ruined because she doesn’t get to choose
I am 15 and I worry about all my friends and my classmates and every girl and woman who has to live with the same fear I do
I am 15 and I know that while this is my reality now, this won’t be my reality forever
I am 15 and I am ready for something to change
“Butterflies in the stomach, a smile that won't go away, and it's like an addiction that makes a person yearn for more. It's not something one thinks about, it's something that's felt, involuntarily.” - Shelena Shorts
My dream within a dream -
I ponder this; what might it be?
When I was but a teen,
romantic notions flitted
through my mind like butterflies -
illusive, beautiful and bright.
I chased them as I dreamed awake.
Catching them was another thing!
I suppose the dream of many
is to find a love that’s true, but
I always longed for the allure
of love that lights the soul on fire -
a lasting, blazing deep desire.
Such love ultimately burns out
but for fleeting moments
I held a butterfly or two!
Sweet butterflies linger not,
They are dreams within a dream.
Oh, to feel again the tickle -
that flutters in the tummy
making me a little crazy!
How nice to be revisited
by butterflies now and then.
Though elusive, they show themselves
at times inside my poetry.
A letter poem to my neighbor's teen, with the same birthday of my father in the month of October, (in October tales)
They took out our free furnished chairs, and happened in, they
at least they did tell you about that, didn't they?
We tried also with our special veggie tales with your fabulous homegrown dishes
Rasmalai, Biriyanni and Tandoori in Coronado apartment
Had multiple suits glowing with diva with your birthday in a stylish way!
And they should! Where every should could!
And what could they say! Anyway!
For a traveling overseas photo with Aunty and the birthday delight
A status quo in the ever delighted hue, twilight
Still thinking about an acasia, hyacinth for a photogenic try
Picked up a bay leaf, mend a leaf and trying for a seeress, cast in situ, in a story, try
This time this time, Nobel time in calling bell
Over the counter and Island too!
This must be the very high time!
For an Acro and a trip, with Ansar and Muhajir!
Mosita
Mo stands for Mobassher
Si stands for Sibbir
Ta stands for Tajmil
They got you outsourced for your motif in Vatican City , in an Auction
For a laminated fishy Gandhi read
One paid in a smoothie centre for a Modi
The other preferred South Africa to dump Gandhi instead
For a peace train , law is never the land and vice versa too!
For a helpless tattoo, what can we do?
What can they say, in anyhow, anyway?