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,

Lucy B. In Your Own Words

A lot of the teens I talk to have a well-developed creative side. For many, creativity is an outlet for the pain they suffer through. For some, that pain stems from abuse, an addiction, depression or just a sucky situation.

Writing has been a gift for me not only because I am talented with my words, but because it is a way to share my life as I heal. Most of you know what I am talking about.

I would like to introduce you to some of those talented writers that I am proud to call "friends."

Lucy B. is one of those phenomenal writers!

Take a look inside Lucy's world.

"So, what are you wearing for prom?" asked Sofie.

"I told you, I'm not going, I don't like wearing non-sleeve things, and we all know the dresses are strap dresses," I lied.

The real reason I wasn't going is because my dad had forbidden me to go to any social events. I didn't wear short sleeved things because it showed my bruises from dad hitting me.

"Well, wear a cardigan then!" she suggested.

"Sofie, I'm not going and that's that!" I snapped.

She looked at me, shocked and then looked away to check the bus times.

"Sorry," I murmured.

I thought I heard her utter: "it's okay," but I must of being hearing things. Anyway I was too deep in thought about how I would attach the new lock I bought onto my door wondering if it would be stronger than before. Stronger than the one dad broke when he wanted to come in. I told him I was drying my hair, but he didn't care. He wanted to hit me again. Then, when the door opened, the lock fell to pieces. Remembering what he shouted at me, and the way he looked at me, pur hate in his eyes. I couldn't help but let out a little whimper.

"Natalie, Nat, are you okay?" Sofie asked, cautiously.

"Yes. No, it's just-" I stuttered, before Sofie (surprisingly) butted in.

"Listen, if you’re having flash backs about the car crash with your mum, then that's okay. I understand, but don't cry. You know it makes me cry too!" she said, shaking me softly and giggling.

"No, no it's just my dad, he-" but before I could finish the bus had arrived and Sofie was chatting up the cute bus driver.

"Come on Nat!" she shouted from the double seat. "I got us seats by the window!"

I skipped on and acted normal, well, as normal as any teenager could when they were being abused by their parents.

After a few minutes of butt aching bumping up and down, we finally arrived at my stop. I said ‘goodbye’ to Sofie and muttered a quiet 'thank you' to the driver and started trudging down my road. It was a long walk from my bus stop, but dad said I needed the exercise, so he only gave me enough money to get to that stop.

When I finally got home I found dad snoring like a pig on my bed. I shook him gently to wake him up, but it turned out he wasn't in such a good mood.

"What did you do that for, you stupid cow?" he shouted, grabbing my arm and twisting it. Hard.

"I wanted to. Ow! Dad you're hurting me!" I exclaimed.

"Good. You’re a stupid, selfish ugly waste of space! No wonder your mother killed herself!" he yelled, twisting my arm harder.

"What?" I hissed, a little too meanly.

"You! You drove her to suicide. She drove that car into a river because of you!" he growled, letting go of my arm. "She couldn't breathe, the water was rushing up her body, like this," and he started from my hips and went upwards, then stopped at my neck. "And then the water went into her mouth, and then there was no more breathing for her. Like THIS!" and his hands closed tightly on my neck.

I couldn't breathe. My own father was strangling me. But surely he wouldn't kill me, would he? But then his hands left my neck and went back down to my hips again. He pushed me onto the bed so I was sitting on it, then he sat down beside me.

"I'm sorry. I'm a silly idiot, can we hug?" he said.

I nodded slowly, but it was more than a hug. He pulled me down so we were lying on the bed, and then his hands started sliding up my top.

If you have a story/poem/journal excerpt you would like to share, email me @ saylorsays@yahoo.com

xoxo,

Introducing Kelsi Jo... "In Your Own Words"

I am so excited to announce the "In Your Own Words" segment of the Saylor Says blog! So excited!

Basically, if you want to share a piece of yourself in words this is the place. You can rant about something, write out a dream, describe your hopes, write some fiction or give your thoughts on any subject under the sun (that applies to teens, of course)!

I found our first FEATURED TEEN on FACEBOOK! I had posted a CALL for WRITERS in my status and before I exhaled, she had commented and wanted to know if she could send me something she had written.

It was fate because this girl is going to write for a living one day and now she can say she is published! The world wide web can come read her words! How very cool! She's got her 15 minutes of fame, although if she keeps writing, she will have many more minutes coming her way.

So, without further ado, I introduce you to:

KELSI JO!
"my name is kelsi jo i'm a reader and writer i also do ballet. i love music, i laugh 99% of my time, i have red hair"

"i knew i was dreaming, which was weird because i never dream. Just a black hole. I was walking down an archway, the doors were all lined up and closed. Then they flew open. I wasn't surprised or scared, i was curious at the least. Each room was different, one was plain white. Another had a bad tv reception. It also had a girl who was holding her head, like she had a horrid headache. As i reached the end of the doors, the floors started beating, like there was a heart growing underneath the tiles. The beating started pulsing off the walls. A small figure was forming in the wall, like a shadow. It moved around in a circle. Soon i ignored it and moved forward, but instead i moved backwards, arms stretched out on either side of me. A tear escaped my eye and traveled down till it started making a puddle on the floor. And my mouth tried to make the words come out like it has tried so many times before. i cant speak, i locked up all my words....."

How many of you have ever felt like your words were all locked up? What made you panic? Was it a memory? Was it the possibility of humiliation? Was it fear?
Feel free to comment and "in your own words" write something about being "locked up..."

** RULES for commenting on "In Your Own Words:"
These words are not only written but OWNED by the author. Your comments must be respectful and positive.

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

Your puzzle...

What do you  think about this quote?

"Do you remember the feeling of sitting in front of a puzzle and suddenly understanding how the triangle filled with yellow and white fits into the whole?  Working with emotions is the same, except that as we observe ourselves, we will have to tolerate both the confusion and the intensity of our feelings."

To read the whole article, go to 6seconds.org

What pieces of your puzzle are you trying to make fit?
Join the conversation!

As always, email me with all your thoughts and questions. I will reply! Promise!
 saylorsays@yahoo.com