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By Parishi Can you?
Oh, how you will love the thrilling touch of her skin, And how her smile can brighten up your day You can cry your heart out to her if something is wrong You'll fall for how the wind blows her hair when she smiles You'll be lost in her eyes, oh how she carries the world in them, dreams like magic and tales like fairies You'll never want to look away when she's around And not forget to blush at the fine dimples on either side of her cheeks You'll be in awe of how she's so good at grades and how clearly she explains You'll love how she cries out with joy when she laughs too much and how innocently she cracks a joke Oh and how she'll jump out with joy when you gift her a present on her birthday And what a glamour she'll be when she dresses at her best and will take your breath away When she'll casually touch your arm and set your heart racing When she tells you she's tired and stretches out her arms to let you carry her Oh, how you'll love her more than the fireflies love their light, you'll want her more than a sunflower needs its sun, you'll fall for her more than an asteroid for its earth, you'll want her on your skin more than a dried sapling longs for rain And will want to keep looking at her more than the partridge looks at her moon. But, Have you ever loved a forest fire Instead of a soothing spring? Have you ever praised the silver clouds Upsetting the purple sky? Have you ever giggled at a wildflower And not the lilies? Have you ever thought of the dead autumn More than you've felt the rain? Anybody can love the touch of her skin Can you love the ashes behind her scars? Anybody can cry their life out to her Can you listen to her when she's falling apart? Anybody can praise her good grades Can you tell her how beautiful her hair smells today? Anybody can ask her how much she earned today Can you ask her if she had her meal and had enough water? Anybody can quarrel over how she doesn't reply to their texts Can you ask her if her day was good and if she's okay? Anybody can walk up to her when they need her, Can you walk up to the end of her street when she's alone? Anybody can talk about how she aces the black dress she wearing But can you just put her hair behind her ear and tell her that she's more beautiful than the stars? Anybody can blame her for not being good enough Can you tell her she is the strongest woman you know and she's perfect as she is? Can you tell her she's good in whatever colour her skin looks like and whatever shape her body is carved in? Can you tell her that she distracts you and it is illegal to be this beautiful? Can you tell her to stop smiling because you'll not be able to sleep? Can you tell her you miss her in your arms, raw and rare? Can you love her when she's at her weakest, with entangled hair, sunken cheeks, swollen eyes and a bleeding heart? Can you wipe out her tears, plant a kiss on her forehead and tell her she's the best thing that's happened to you? Can you hold her trembling hand, hold her hand tight enough, look into her eyes and tell her that she deserves the world and everything will be okay? Can you?
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By Priyanka Dust of ashes in the fragments of my soul,
Traced in the ghosts of shadows there lay a dream yet to be scavenged A dream that glimpsed the promise of birth, But somewhere, the hope had died I had dug the ashes out, and stomped on them and buried them, to still in bedrock, forgotten forever in the dirt. Now that I look back, I simply wonder, what had killed, a vision, so vivid and alive, that stirred with tremendous zeal and passion, that had stolen, a chamber of my heart, that the very thought of it,, Quaked my boots and yet, Unleashed the storm on the shore? That left me gasping for breath, yet made my spirits soar? Had it been, the drone of gossip, the string of No's? Had they said, that I was too young and wild? And that I needed to be tamed by playing it safe? Was that the cause that I somehow grew, a root of self-doubt in my body, that churned out anxiety, so overwhelming Had it been, that penetrated my nerves, flooded my mind? Leaving me gaping and tumbling into a black hole of endless uncertainty? My brain is a mess, But why bother cleaning it up, No one’s ever going to walk in, There’s nothing in here they’ll ever love. There are a million different things screaming for my attention, A million different fires that need redirection, But each time I try to smooth over the traffic, Another bomb drops and adds to the panic. Many different things add to the noise: School, friends, family, With a plethora of commitments breathing down my neck, I constantly feel like I’m sick. It never shows though, it’s carefully tucked away, Schooled expressions worn as masks to lead onlookers astray, I can’t afford to take them off, The dam I’ve been building will crack, And then no one will want me back. But, I’m so tired of this mess, I need help, I need help with spring cleaning, But it’s not even spring yet, maybe I should wait, Procrastinate, It’s all that I know how to do. -Jahannavi JahannaviAnxiety is watching a blur of cars, their tires gliding swiftly through damp roads,
Drifting -- away. The sound of the crossing delays them-- a moment to breathe; A random pause in their flow of movement. But moments later, they begin their smooth descent To the known, Their destination already decided. Silent tears, the only things that can escape you; A salty tasty of freedom against your lips, The only way of knowing your tears are real, And not just a river being washed from within you, Turning you into the puddle cars manoeuvre around, Or splash against, coating pedestrians with despair, Their own feel for what anxiety did to you. But anxiety is Being left behind; Watching life move without you. Anxiety is frozen, Knowing what to do, but disconnected from your ability to move, Wondering how your legs once caught up to them, A blunder in your memories. Anxiety, your mind a jittery hand You can’t control, Your dreams spilled onto a page But the pen, the key to your soul, Is Slowly Losing Ink Anxiety is the choked silence Frozen in your throat Lodged between fear and freedom. Nicole I’m waiting for my past-time, to be part-time, to be all mine.
I’m excited to watch the days fly by, not a care in the world. Right now they’re not mine. I’m ready to waste it, I’m ready to chase it, can’t fit in the moment But why should I care I’ve gotten over it, my future is glistening, but I’m stuck here. It’s a pity my emotions, creations, excitation are wasted on the wonders that aren’t here. Am I wrong to be excited for what to come; is it wrong for it to be the only thing I wanted? Am I wrong to want all the things unsure; is it wrong to be unhappy for the things I can control? Why does the me-now even matter, when she’s gone tomorrow morning? Why should I try? Even the world is trying to distract myself from “who am I right now?” - Jahannavi The wistful whispers of the ocean as it glistens in the moonlight
Subdued by the tranquil air and the silence that gently travels, Urge the pebble to edge further into the predictability Of the soft waves, finding safety in its delicate fluctuating motion Unlike the tumultuous waves that possess the angelic Body of water when the sun rises. The blue light is electric, reflecting and revitalizing The gentle splashes provide a promise that they will Guide your thoughts, rather than aggravate them. Slowing them down, focusing on what truly matters. Unlike under the scorching cerulean sky, Where floating in the middle of nowhere Is blinding And being suffocated under the waves Which choke your silence. Here, silence is free, Silence isn’t synonymous with fear. Liberated by the soft waves of freedom, The dynamic blue water is glowing, Illuminating the truth in who you are, The truth that only you know is there. You’re safe here, You’re protected by the breeze that Carries your trepidation away Through the waves of discovery.
Sometimes I wish I could rewind the clocks and go - go back in time, be interested in the things I'm not, play with the toys that collect dust, climb the tree house before it’s all rot, ride my bike before its covered in rust, play games with my brother, just give it another, go - go back in time, and say yes to those scary things, not be as shy, listen to the bird sing, cause the limit is the sky. Oh, the places, I will go - but now I just sit, and cry as they all go by. By Josh
The cushions on the couch provide a comfortable place to rest -
the dog curls up beneath my feet to doze, the rug is her place of vacation its soft strands intertwined with her fur, like warm sand underfoot. The picture frames on the wall catch my eye as I examine the memories they hold, As the books on the shelf call out to me, they long to be read, the blanket wraps around me - hugging me tight as I read, travelling to a distant world from my living room, whilst the vinyl spins round and round, dancing as it sings, the candle joins in the dance - gently, flickering, as it bathes the room in a soft, warm light, the warmth protects me from the cold outside, the storm that rages on can’t reach me, here. By Josh One day, I was walking home with my mum, An old man called me love, Told me to give him a lick of my ice cream, I was seven. and it still makes me wanna scream. One day, I wore my favourite skirt to the shops, I got catcalled by a man someone probably called "pops", My mum told me "take it as a compliment" I was fourteen and no longer comfortable in my skin. One day, I went out with my friends to town, what Ii was wearing should not matter, but to every guy who saw me it did, I was fifteen, and realised that this was normal. I shouldn't be afraid to go out at night in fear of harassment, but i am. I shouldn’t have had to worry about it at 14, but i did. I shouldn't take it as a compliment, It was not. Jemima |
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Teenagers With Experience is an online organisation created to provide teenagers worldwide with an online platform to share their own experiences to be able to help, inform and educate others on a variety of different topics. We aim to provide a safe space to all young people. You can contact us via email, social media or our contact form.
Please note that the content on this website is created by teenagers. While we strive to provide accurate and helpful information, it is important to remember that we are not professional experts. If you are experiencing a crisis or need professional advice, please reach out to a qualified mental health professional or a helpline. |