11Th Grade Teen Poems | Examples
These 11Th Grade Teen poems are examples of poetry about 11Th Grade Teen. These are the best examples of Teen 11Th Grade poems written by international poets.
No cap, that's how I roll
My story, totally whole
No faking a single part,
Just open; an honest heart
My spirit shines bright,
A natural, easy light
Words flow, a friendly stream,
Living out my best dream
Connections bloom,
Chasing away all gloom
A good vibe I share,
With rizz in the air
No ceiling above,
Just freedom, full of love
I live with no cap, you see,
The real, the happy, the me
You were gazing at me as I looked in your direction
You, caught in daydream's reflection
Both of us wondering if we've made a connection
As you stand with your friends by your locker
As both of us are caught up in this moment
Both wondering if the other one knows it
Both wondering if the other will show it
Having our love listed on the docket
You writing our names on your notebook
In a heart our names, in your mind nuptials took
Me stealing your heart like some kind of crook
As you lean back on your book nook
I saunter over, parting your friends
I fumble for words, my heart beats intense
I manage to muster these words in defense
"You've captivated my heart with just a look!"
teen magazine came out in the late sixties
my mother bought it for my sister and I
every cover featured a blonde girl with blue eyes
she looked l like she surfed in California
Inside there were ads, ads, ads, ads, ads and ads.
It was a slick magazine with lots of glossy pages.
the items they sold looked enticing and necessary.
We did not have the money to buy any of this.
There were a couple of stories, and maybe a comic or two.
But the ads were the kicker.
They showed us things we never hoped to be able to purchase.
After a while, we lost our enthusiasm for this magazine.
I searched only to find,
days more survived,
th'n wooed by life,
asking the heavens why.
Her name held a promised vow..
likened to a solitary bell,
from tall steeple's climb,
oh, how far I fell..
for one called Michelle.
I'll meet you in starlight again..
if rightful universe is willing,
to lend a helping hand.
Maybe, just maybe,
if they hear me praying,
where winged angels go singing..
her laughing eyes still playing.
Night passes on,
awaiting tomorrow's dawn,
somewhere a lone bell still ringing,
where queen takes pawn.
Two lover's lips willing to relearn,
whispered in a wishing well,
softest voice' heralding a return,
the one called Michelle..
School uniforms
are the last, tired gasp of a
dying patriarchy.
You see a DARK bra
under my blouse? Oh, God! Who
knew girls wore those!
School uniforms, with
long sleeves, aren't made for
pandemic washing.
A guy told me that
girls in school uniforms are
a core **** motif.
I told him his grasp
of **** tropes must rival
that of our school board.
School uniforms are
meant to UNsex otherwise
provocative girls.
p.s. I write short stories too =]
Don - they tell me you're leaving
I can't believe it's true,
that we’ll get to live without you.
You’ll go away - govern-mentally,
after all this pain and misery.
When you go - I won’t miss you,
You never said a thing that was true.
Remember when - you hoaxed the virus fight.
What an idiot - you never got it right.
Trump never cared - for me or you,
but we might survive now that he's through.
So let’s discuss - the insurrection -
you provoked when you lost the election.
You got impeached for time number two
who said breaking up was hard to do?
Let’s say goodbye - and let it be,
I hear you’re going to do - Trump TV?
About the time you get that set up,
New York will come and lock you up.
Draw a stick figure
future - diminished
and virus ransomed.
Paint the landscape
with the sweltering glare
of global warming.
Come share this
with me - let kisses heal and
soft whispers inflame.
Some locks need two keys
to open, some heavens can
be reached by mortals.
What do theologians call a life without events?
The lights of my prison-like room dawn before sun's first blush.
I open sand-papery eyes as my AI announces the morning.
I begin the puppetry of morning routines:
I study my pale inmate face as I polish the porcelain.
I look less of a drowsy-angel than a zombie as I splash cold water
on the face with an almost determined lack of expression.
I’m absorbed in an ocean of predawn cold
as I 5-mile-walk away my sleepiness - this small freedom
- keeps me fit and acceptably sane.
Later, bathed in hot indifference,
and clothed in exhausting obligations,
I dine, at my reserved table, with my gang of irritations.
Soon I’m ready for another taxing day
of waiting for the disease to run its course.
Morning's induction act -
the sun breaks cover bright as
Los Alamo's flash.
............I found
some words
that I
can use
to bind
you with
p.s. I write short stories too =]
The question is:
“Are people still collecting
memories, these days?”
"This isolation
isn't bothering me much.”
I say, if I'm asked.
But I’m not sure that’s
true. After hundreds of nights
of dull solitude.
I think each night might
carry a value - of dear,
and unmeasured loss.
Loss of memories
- because they never happened.
How have we all changed?
Now I understand
why dogs get so excited
about going out.
virtual school moments (in Senryus)
I forget that I'm
virtual school, because I'm
really in my room.
And start brushing my
hair or singing a song I'm secretly
listening to - until friends text me!
My mom forgets I'm
in v.school, comes in, to yell
at me about dishes.
My cat walks across
my keyboard submitting "*84;'/jifgvbzws*"
as a test answer.
"It was a typo!," I complain,
“You still got an "A"," she says.
"But I LOST 4 points!!" Argh!
"Get a life!," she says.
Argh!
Damn phone alarm.
I gulp haste.
I open my school app - like an eyelid.
Invade my sanctuary, virtual tyranny.
Where's my focus?!
*looking around for my coffee cup*
I feel like a bobble-head.
(a firefly)
Put that imagination away before you hurt someone.