Feelings Teen Poems | Examples
These Feelings Teen poems are examples of Teen poems about Feelings. These are the best examples of Teen Feelings poems written by international poets.
You first sought my trembling hand in perfectly sown, soft-honed land.
When our lips quiver gripped with virgin steam by an aloof stream,
time flared our romantic, teenage passion through forest-spiced air.
We lost logic under starry skies devoted to our sighs.
Years did not fray my feelings for our time in youth's twilight rays.
I oft wonder if peaked, bare recall tenderly takes you there ....
I was drawn to you, from the first instant
something about you aroused my senses
a message unspoken, and insistent
that could somehow bypass my defenses.
I couldn’t show it, you couldn’t know it,
so I sat quietly and ignored you.
When chasing dreams, love is unbefitting
this I’d been told, and so, it must be true.
When I met you again, you were funny,
not what I assumed, you were something new.
Hashtag, as a boyfriend, he’s been money,
such was the start of our kissing booth truth.
Love can shine like salvation.
Love lights unseeable torches
When heated, love evades judgment.
It gives breath to the sweetest sounds.
Love makes reasons and it breaks reason.
Please, bright holidays - summon irresistible cheer
that dancing souls can celebrate with free hearts.
Let hallow'd observances pass with seasonal soundtracks, tinsel-prismed
cascades of multicolored lights and evergreen scents.
Too often these days, our joys seem hostage held
by some fearsome heaviness, like that of a guilty thing.
Give wholesome nights back their power to charm,
enjoy festive feelings, and pass those, as gifts, on to others.
a down-payment of feelings is required
love me so I can decide to love you
please kiss for confirmation
touch this to accept
Mmmm
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*Does anyone ever read those “terms of service” agreements?
I think he’s into you.
Why didn’t you talk to him?
“I was trying to make a good impression.”
Sometimes I’ll rouse, in darkest night, to a twilit form, bending over me, so closely we’re sharing the same still air. I never startle, I somehow know, even before I’m completely awake, that it’s not mortal.
This malevolent force stalks time worn halls like disease. It thrives on inertia and stress, it drinks in fatigue like a vampire devours blood and slowly chews on fragile-hopes until they’re desiccated and smell like rotten flesh.
This death like thing waits for each of us, in tedium, as danger hides in shadow - growling with sullen impatience to smother us.
It’s name is failure. Sometimes, I’m so afraid.
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ps, I write short stories too
Thanks for saying “no offense” before insulting me - that really cleared things up.
What must it be like to be male? To live with an overclocked metabolic system that’s always on the lookout for brazen and unmistakable propositions - like a smile or a "please pass the salt."
I mean at times we all have those feelings - primitive as oil - but not the constant, fast forward, high density need that males seem to live with.
It must be like wrestling a trapped demon..
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*this piece is supposed to be a slight exaggeration for comic effect - a satire*
It’ll be an old fashioned Christmas,
with Santa due down the chute.
I bet he Purells his reindeer,
and Lysols his hazmat suit.
It’s an old fashioned Christmas.
We’ll all have on our masks,
and our muffled yuletide carols,
will be just like seasons past.
We’ll observe all the guidelines.
We’ll eat six feet apart.
We’ll have disinfectant under the mistletoe,
and keep safety in our hearts.
Sure, it’s an old fashioned Christmas.
One unique to the times.
The love this year might be careful,
but the feelings are genuine.
Thanksgiving is almost here,
annoying school bells have stopped ringing.
Turkeys are huddling, out of sight,
and the garbage men are singing.
We’re beginning to prep side dishes,
slicing, dicing, mashing, peeling,
and I’m smiling ‘cause I feel myself
swept up in holiday feelings.
I hope that Macys is ready
for their seasonal parade.
We’ll be watching as we start to cook
the banquet that we’ve made.
I’m wishing everyone plenty,
as we shelter in our homes.
On this tame 2020 holiday,
that we’re spending home alone.
was it so long ago I slept
on my front steps
under the black sky.
Just thirteen and not knowing
I was asleep that whole year.
Holes in my sneakers only
slightly smaller than
the holes in my life.
Two o'clock in the morning,
three thousand stars watching
and me,
afraid of waking up.
I was dazzled - in
a summer spell - did we both
name it as special?
Was it the summer
freedom - the sparkling lake
that summoned magic?
The constant sun sent
a subliminal message
with its rise and fall.
It won’t last, it said,
there's an expiration
date approaching fast.
The short-lived summer
proved a brief, insubstantial
memory making.
This actual poet writes me silly poems.
He's there and I can't explain it.
A lifetime of experience and things lived I only imagine
and this actual, famous, poet writes me silly poems.
I wonder why me?? Why is he wasting time with me?
This sapient, hopelessly encouraging, ego-boosting poet
who writes me silly poems.
It's confusing.
My mind paints countless canvases of doubt,
like our connection is fragile tissue, perishable suds.
Surely one day I will find him bored and gone.
This actual, famous poet that writes me silly poems.
force, punish, burden,
insistent coercion, and threat,
compulsion, tension.
Stressful stranglehold,
urge, force per unit area,
fuss, influence, duress.