TeenWriters

Your music has changed my life, It's helping me to heal. Stitching up the wounds, Giving me more confidence. Nothing else has ever been able, To heal me so quickly. Let alone heal me at all, So I thank you for that. I feel like I belong to something, When I listen to your music. Like I'm part of something bigger, That will take over the world. Your music makes me happy, To be who I really am. It's inspired me to be, The more spontaneous me, without being afraid.

How could I have been so blind? You kept hinting at the truth, But I was naive And thought that by telling you how I felt, Things would change. Silly me, Thinking that just because you made me a promise, You meant it. You have taught me That what looks like a perfect friendship on the outside, Can be just one big lie at it's heart. I do think you tried to show me the truth, But I didn't like it, So I wouldn't listen. I just reminded you of your words And hoped everything would be alright. You eventually just gave up, And took to feeding me lie after lie And I ate them up with a spoon, Believing them to be truths.

The Downfalls Accentuate The Benefits Intimidate The Masses Manipulate The Foolish The Fallen Exterminate Finite People moving sideways Finite

Dislocated and overrated This outdated and over-inflated Form of Panache Contradicts the kind of wit That I fit Failing to sit in the chair That was made for it Like a blunt pencil, it fills a page With a kind of rage Easily pacified with age Without the accuracy to make a mark That ignites the bright spark Of literary art Flowing like milk and honey Towards acclaim, fame and money IT wants for no reader, only admiration Not the kind that unites a nation But the kind of fanatic sensation That earns a reputation for flirtation With obsessive tweens And their piercing screams Changing the meaning of childhood dreams And re

Ever since I was a little girl, I've had marmalade on my toast at breakfast, every breakfast. It wasn't that I was particularly fond of it. By my teenage years it barely held any taste for me. It was just how it was. When I started making my own breakfast, nothing changed. Marmalade, toast and a cup of tea, every morning without fail sat in front of me in the mornings. When I come down the stairs to bacon and eggs today, however, I don't question it. Mum pats me on the head as she squeezes past, shovelling the food onto my plate. I sit down, stealing a quick glance at Dad who reads his paper without looking up. I pick up a knife and fork, be

  It was pitch black that night, and the only light was a soft glow that came from the lighted numbers on an alarm clock. Next to the mahogany bookshelf that housed many Stephen King books, and the alarm clock a girl laid in her medium-sized bed. The clock would read 3:50 AM. But the girl who lay motionless in her bed was far from asleep.  If you didn't know she was awake and walked in front of her face you would be startled when you saw her hazel eyes wide open and sparkling with excitment. You would ask her why she was still awake when she had to get up for school in only a few hours. She would answer you with a wide smile. "I learned s

[N is in the car. Grunkle Stan is driving the car, N is sitting in the front while Mabel and her friends Grenda and Candy. They are fan girl squealing every couple of seconds.] N: We've been driving for half an hour now. In another couple of minutes we will reach our destination. The girls are only talking about that damn book. [The girls fan girl squeal] N: This is worse then ear sodomy. [N observes Grunkle Stan who seems irritated] Even Stan is in much dismay due to their high pitch squeal over a shit vampire book that's rough draft should have been burned instead of published. [Mordecai and Rigby are the DVD store. They are looking for

It wasn't until later, in his room, that Paul found the little vomit stain on his trousers. He regarded it with a little bit of surprise, having not noticed that the red-haired man had vomited at all. He'd been watching the whole time and nothing had come from the man's mouth as he had lain upon Paul. Paul supposed he ought to not care, so he stripped off his trousers and put on a fresh khaki pair that he actually rather liked. As a rule, he'd never liked khaki, feeling that it made him seem to be more middle-aged than he really was. He was thirty, by God! In the prime of his life! Isn't that what they always said? It was only as he was sli