Another TEEN In Your Own Words a poem by "Ican..."

One of my fans in Indonesia is a CRAZY GOOD POET! His poems evoke pain and vulnerability but you can feel the FREEDOM his words give to the sometimes painful situations he writes about.

You will see him here more often. He writes A LOT and shares his work on his Facebook page.

On Facebook he goes by  "Icankalwaysagonyscreampain Trappedblackholeofdeath Blackveilbridesandbmth"

Welcome, friends. Enjoy!

I woke up, my body lying
I feel lighter, my soul drift
I think my leg, not touching the ground
I saw my body could no longer breathe

My disappear, possibly death
But can not get out, I increasingly bound
I see me, oh am I?
My time is stopped, the death of my


My body was floating ...
Thousands of fire burn ...
Oh was hot ...
What is happening to me? ..
I saw a black shadow ...
But I also can not escape ..
I kept running .....
Until my crashing, awake!

My soul is oppressed, in the dark
Sick ...
Lonely alone in the silence
Scary world

Want to rebel, my soul was torn
Oh ... I die!
Follow the black shadow

Take me away
Natural dark ahead
I'm afraid to die ...
My soul shattered
Slowly and disappear

Sick ...

He will be back. There is much more to be read by "Icankalwaysagonyscreampain Trappedblackholeofdeath Blackveilbridesandbmth"

xoxo,

For Children Who Were Broken : A Poem by teen Elia Wise

For Children Who Were Broken
by Elia Wise
For Children Who Were Broken
it is very hard to mend......
Our pain was rarely spoken
and we hid the truth from friends.
Our parents said they loved us,
but they didn't act that way.
They broke our hearts
and stole our worth,
with the things that they would say.
We wanted them to love us.
We didn't know what we did
to make them yell at us
and hit us,
and wish we weren't their kid.

They'd beat us up and scream at us
and blame us for their lives.
Then they'd hold us close inside their arms
and tell us confusing lies
of how they really loved us --
even though we were BAD,
and how it was OUR fault they hit us,
OUR fault that they were mad.
When days were just beginning
we sometimes prayed for them to end,
and when the pain kept coming,
we learned to just pretend
that we were good
and so were they
and this was just
on of those days ...
tomorrow we'd be friends.
We had to believe it so.
We had nowhere else to go.
Each day that we pretended,
we replaced reality
with lies, or dreams,
or angry schemes,
in search of dignity ....
until our lies
got bigger than the truth,
and we had no one real to be
Our bodies were forsaken.
With no safe place to hide,
we learned to stop
hearing and feeling what they did to our outsides.
We tried to make them love us,
till we hated ourselves instead,
and couldn't see a way out,
and wished that they were dead.
We scared ourselves by thinking that,
and scared ourselves to know,
that we were acting just like them --
and might ever more be so.
To be half the size of a grown-up
and trapped inside their pain....
To every day lose everything
with no savior or refrain...
To wonder how it is possible
that God could so forget
the worthy child you knew you were,
when you had not been damaged yet ...
To figure on your fingers
that the years till you'd be grown
enough to leave the torment
and survive away from home,
were more than you could count to,
or more than you could bear,
was the reality we lived in
and we knew it wasn't fair.
We who grew up broken
are somewhat out of time,
struggling to mend our childhood,
when our peers are in their prime.
Where others find love
and contentment,
we still often have to strive
to remember we are worthy,
and heroes just to be alive.
Some of us are healing.
some are stealing.
Most are passing the anger on.
Some give their lives away to drugs,
or the promise of like beyond.
Some still hide from society.
Some struggle to belong.
But all of us are wishing
the past would not hold on
so long.
There's a lot of digging down to do
to find the child within,
to love away the ugly pain
and feel innocence again.
There is forgiveness
worthy of angel's wings
for remembering those at all,
who abused our sacred childhood
and programmed us to fall.
To seek to understand them,
and how their pain became our own,
is to risk the ground we stand on
to climb the mountain home.
The journey is not so lonely
as in the past it s been ...
More of us are strong enough
to let the growth begin.
But while we're trekking
up the mountain
we need everything we've got,
to face the adults we have become,
and all that we are not.
So when you see us weary
from the day's internal climb ...
When we find fault
with your best efforts,
or treat imperfection
as purposeful crime ...
When you see our quick defenses,
our efforts to control,
our readiness to form a plan
of unrealistic goals ...
When we run into a conflict
and fight to the bitter end,
remember ...
We think that winning means
we won't be hurt again.
When we abandon OUR thoughts
and feelings,
to be what we believe YOU
want us to,
or look at trouble we re having,
and want to blame it all on you...
When life calls for new beginnings,
and we fear they re doomed to end,
remember...
Wounded trust is like a wounded knee--
It is very hard to bend.
Please remember this
when we are out of sorts.
Tell us the truth, and be our friend.
For children who were broken...
it is very hard to mend.

Send me your poems, thoughts, short stories and I will share them... anonymously if you choose.

xoxo

Happy Sweet 16 Phoebe Prince

Phoebe Nora Mary Prince

1994-2010

On January 14, 2010, Phoebe's life ended tragically and as a result of bullying. This beautiful girl was talented and gifted and loved by so many. Tomorrow would have been her 16th birthday but thanks to the harsh words of people who barely knew her, her life was snuffed out like the flame of a candle.

What gives kids the right to make ANYONE feel they are of a lesser worth?

What gives ANYONE the right to create a life of torment for someone?

What is so torturous in your own life that you need to drive someone so far into depression that they take their own life?

Information in quotes found @ slate.com:

"One week last October, Bill Evans, the assistant principal of South Hadley High School in Massachusetts, chose two students to read public service announcements over the loudspeaker as part of the school's participation in National Bullying Prevention Awareness Week. In selecting kids to read the PSAs, Evans thought about who would be a spokesperson that other kids would believe was speaking sincerely. He chose Sean Mulveyhill, a senior and star of the football team. "He was a natural selection—the kind of kid who would seek out someone having difficulty just to help him," Evans says.

In his PSA, Sean laid out four steps that victims of cyberbullying can take: Don't return nasty texts or IMs. Make copies of them. Set up filters to block the bully from sending more. Talk to a caring adult. Sean's message ended: "Remember that when you are targeted by a person or group of people, whether online or face-to-face, you are not alone and you can take action to make it stop."

"Sean read it. I think he meant it," Evans says."

Sean is one of the students charged with not only bullying but rape in Phoebe's case.

"About two hours before she died, Phoebe texted with the boy she'd sat with that day in the library. In one of several messages that speak to her feelings of desperation, she wrote: "I cant do it anymore … im literally hme cryn, my scar on my chest is potentially permanent, my bodies fukd up wht mre du they want frm me? Du I hav to fukn od!" The boy wrote back, reassuring her that he would talk to Sean and Ashley and make them stop. "Who cares what other people think phoebe I know you're a good person," he wrote.

At home in her bedroom, Phoebe plugged in her cell phone to recharge it, perhaps because she hadn't entirely absorbed what she was about to do. Soon after, she hung herself in the stairwell with a black scarf woven with multicolor thread. Her sister had given it to her. After Phoebe's death, the police found several of her drawings. One of them shows a human figure with a noose around the neck. In a note drawn as if it was pinned to the body, Phoebe asked for forgiveness."

Please take a moment of silence to honor Phoebe and all the others who have lost their lives to bullying. Make a promise to yourself and to those for whom it's too late to NEVER use your words for hate and to ALWAYS report someone who does. Don't let Phoebe's death be in vain!

Happy SWEET 16, Phoebe!

A typical school morning...

"I break through the front doors of the school each morning hoping to see a gaping hole in the earth and the rest of the building at the bottom. No luck today. I breathe through my mouth for the first couple minutes after arriving at school. The stench is putrid and I have to ease into it. All schools have the same smell first thing in the morning. It is a strange combination of shampoo on damp hair, dried zit cream and coffee-stained manila folders. I hate that smell; it is the scent of opportunity. Anything can happen on any given day and if the past dictates the future, I need to anticipate the worst. But, I secretly hope for the best."

Does this sound familiar?

How do YOU enter school?

What do you look forward to?

What do you avoid?