I'm a mess,
A teenage mess.
Can't take the stress,
But I have to press
On and on for more,
Adding extra to the plate.
Piling it out the door,
Then I'll procrastinate.
Not knowing why I cry,
Feeling unstable.
People say it's hormones,
But they thought I was able.
I'm not a silly little girl,
Who needs therapy.
I'm just born into peril,
But I'll still take every AP.
I might be a mess,
A teenage mess.
I'll have trouble with the stress,
But I will not rest,
Never take a "break" no more,
Because It's the only way,
Working for the top score,
To make my their day.
I'll have to control,
My uncontrollable desires.
To be let off parole,
And finally join the choir.
Oh, the choir of those who pay the price,
To earn a chance, to break the ice.
But I won't let my mess define,
I'll rise, I'll change, I'll suffice.
I cannot be a mess,
A teenage mess,
If I have to stress,
I must still press.
On and on for more,
Until I get that score,
Never stopping,
Always hopping,
A teenage mess... no more.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
RandomJust a dump of poems I wrote from the depths of my heart you may be able to relate to. Varies from dark sad poems to a few happy ones.
