I like to swim
But I love to drown
I dive deep down
I feel the air seep from my chest
It’s like I’m a guest
A guest in my own brain
My body feels all the pain
Why oh why do I like to drown
My mind relinquished the crown
The crown of control
With all the signals
Telling me to breathe
But I just squeeze
My hands into fists
It’s like a gift
To be able to sink
Without a think
Because
I like to swim
But I love to drown
What can I say?
Did I know you wouldn't stay?
Why did you play?
Was our bond just moldable clay?
Why did I get a formal "father",
When I just wanted a "dad" who'd bother?
When I was small, I wished to be big,
Tired of playing this childhood jig.
But once I grew up, I wanted back small,
To escape the shadows that made me feel tall.
My teenage years were drowning in tension,
While they relaxed and lived on a pension.
You demanded so much more,
I asked, "Is there nothing else in store?"
You screamed that you still wanted more!
Was my existence just a tedious chore?
They want the girl to build a home,
Though she was left to weep alone.
Mother sees the rising evil,
But she prefers to love her own
Sweet devil.
On Saturday afternoons long ago, when cartoons faded from the TV’s glow
A teenager earned a modest pittance, to finish the week with his remittance
From coins for cans and chores to do, the basement became the work place too
A weekly ritual dust and sweep, and memories were polished for us to keep
Years rolled on yet still there lies, a wooden shelf with the writing of “pizza flies”
A phrase half-lost, a family thread, echoing something once misread
From allowance paid to words unclear, the past returns as I sit here
In chores, in jokes, we had a good time, it’s these small moments of which I write
I go back to Pinterest because why wouldn't I.
It's addictive and gives me something to do I won't even lie.
I scroll and click and scroll and click once more.
It's hard to put down because it keeps my mind in control.
There's rings, clothes, books, and most importantly help for me.
I can relate a little too much to some of the posts and that's key
For me to come back I need to want, to CRAVE the feed
Everyday I open it and everyday I feel my hate for myself grow and my love for Pinterest turn into need.
It makes me happy. I know it's confusing but that's where my heart settled
I lay in my bed looking at these people who I wish I was and I meddle
I meddle with my mind but also my body. But I can't be them and I never will be and I come to term
I've thought that I hate this app but I love it because it can be good, i've learned
It's fun, nice, addictive, and amazing just don't scroll too deep or you'll get beat
I've had too much experience diving too deep and that's a fact
But I just CAN'T stop going back!
Roses are red, violets are blue,
The world feels brighter, it's true.
A lighter burden, a peaceful release,
Everyone is happier, when I die.
No more worries, no more strife,
Just rest, a different life.
A gentle silence, a calm, deep sigh,
Everyone is happier, when I die.
The sun will shine, the birds will sing,
Joyful feelings, they will bring.
A lifted spirit, reaching for the sky,
Everyone is happier when I die.
When I was younger
I wanted to be friends
with the monsters under my bed
Now I am terrified of these monsters
in my head
Breathing is second nature
I know that much to be true
but how these monsters choke up
when I look at you
I try to count sheep
to help me fall asleep
but when I dream
all I dream
is worshipping at your feet
You have everything to me
perfect hair, perfect smile
when they say
walk a mile
it truly is a trial
because
for all I can see
you have everything to me
So, I can try to be the friend
to these monsters in my head
but I know in the end
these monsters are just like me
these monsters don't like me
Since when did everything cross my mind as another reason I shouldn’t be here?
Since when did everything happy seem to vanish?
Since when did my mind have to constantly have a toy?
Since when did baths become so stingy?
Since when did my nails feel most at home inside my skin?
Since when did every conversation need a script?
Since when did getting out of bed feel scary?
Since when did suicidal melodies drown my ears?
Since when did I ever think of dying?
18 years later here I lie
Debating how I want to die
How i want to end my life
To stop the pain, the suffer, the heartache of everyday
A permanent cure to the constant pain, the only piece of consistency in my life
How many times will I do this?
I’d love to sit here and tell you that it won;t happen again
But I can see through the mirror who I am
And who I am, knows that I will do this again
You confuse me
You come into my life as a stranger yet the first person I call on the edge of that bridge
The victim to the texts from a lonely girl who thought the world hated her
Every scar, every close call
Your the one who took the fall
Even when I had given up
I will get back my hope one day
Hope for a romantic love story
I'll just be the chick with a dramatic backstory
10 years from now I will be face to face with a killer
Putting all my past trauma to good use
Hearing their past and their abuse
To what lead them to who they are, what lead them to what they do
But right now these are just impossible dreams
Your my hope
You see me, you see the real me
And knowing you have hope in me and my future, gives me…
I confide it all to my journal.
I'm forever trying to understand
my place in this big world.
It's not easy growing up and fitting in.
Truthfully much of life hardly makes any sense.
But still curiosity has the best of me
so my journal and I plug away
and peel back the layers of each day.
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Tired. Tired of writing my name on a page, a name I don't want, a name they call me to taunt.
I'm tired, tired of pretending, I want to cry and scream but no one listens to my pleas, I want to hit and yell but they just talk, like I'm a joke to tell.
I'm tired, tired of hiding, faking a laugh so they don't see me crying, tired of being lied to, like telling the truth would curse you.
I'm tired, tired of this pain, The razor cutting my skin as I drift away, blood seeping from my skin, my head starting to spin.
I'm tired, physically, mentally and emotionally. Tired of your games, the ones I'm forced to play, until you get bored and I'm left in one of your hoards.
I'm tired, tired of life, wishing to die but in the end...I just cry, cut and write goodbyes that won't happen until another lifetime.
I'm tired, tired of crying, lying on my unmade bed, hoping these tears are the last ones to be shed.
These demons in my head urging me to stop my breath, to hurry up to my death. I'm tired, so please let me rest.
The old men shake their heads.
The kids don't.
They're too busy becoming parents before they know how to become adults.
Dad is somewhere behind concrete and razor wire.
Mom has burned through every soft word she ever owned.
The babies keep coming.
No plan. No money. No silence.
The neighborhood learns another last name, another siren, another empty chair at the dinner table.
Nobody is born wanting this.
But broken things have a way of making more broken things—
unless somebody decides the story ends with them.
The Poet's Write
A poet sits with pen in hand,
Words flow like rivers, across the land.
Ink dances on the page so white,
As thoughts and feelings take flight tonight.
Rhymes weave a spell, emotions pour,
The poet's heart pours onto the floor.
Verses twist and turn with gentle ease,
A world of words, a poet's sweet release.
With every line, a story's told,
Dreams and hopes, young and old.
The poet's soul, a canvas wide,
Paints pictures with words, side by side.
Metaphors bloom, similes shine,
Imagery sparks, a poet's divine.
The music of words, a symphony sweet,
Echoes deep, where hearts beat.
In the silence, words come alive,
Whispers of truth, the poet strives.
To capture moments, feelings raw,
And share with others, heart and soul.
The pen scratches, the words unfold,
A tapestry rich, a story told.
Of love, loss, joy, and pain,
A poet's journey, forever to remain.
The page fills up, the words slow down,
The poet pauses, lost in thought, frown.
The world outside fades from view,
As the poet's heart, in words, is true
Your tears flow like a river,
You always appear in my deepest slumber.
I only loved you once,
But I lost you at every chance.
We became the closest of friends,
But we broke apart before the story ends.
It hurt me most and turned my heart blue,
These hidden feelings only I and you knew.
You ignited my heart but turned me green,
When I saw the other girl you had chosen to be seen.
Mourn my mind with grief and pain when you chose her,
I guess there is no way to be together.
I planted anger where love once grew with regret,
Desperately wanting my heart to finally forget.
I just want to say what I held from the start —
I love you my Vincent, with all of my heart.
Please remember our friendship if nothing else,
For loving you was the truest thing I ever felt.
All seems dark and gloomy.
Just then, happy thoughts seem very distant.
Remember... this too shall pass.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 2ndplace 2026
I hope I marry a man who loves me in ways the world can see.
Not just in quiet words spoken when no one is around,
but in crowded places where his eyes still search for me first.
A man who brings me flowers for no special reason,
on an ordinary day,
simply because I crossed his mind
and he wanted me to know.
The kind of man who waits for me while I get ready,
leaning against the doorway with a soft smile,
watching me as if even my smallest habits
are worth remembering.
A man who loves me not only in grand gestures,
but in the unnoticed moments—
the comfortable silences,
the gentle touches,
the way he reaches for my hand without thinking.
Someone who makes the ordinary feel extraordinary,
until the simplest days with him
become the memories my heart holds onto forever.
I hope I marry a man whose love feels like home—
steady, warm, and certain—
the kind of love that never has to be questioned,
because it is shown in a hundred quiet ways every single day.
Teenage Categories
Definition | What is Teenage in Poetry?
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.