This page showcases writing by teens. Do you have an original poem or story to share?
Submit your work to Crystal Faris  for consideration.
Born and raised in the USA
Yet in my mind
My home is so far away
Living in the USA is like a foreign planet
Whether it’s the taste, smells, sounds, or
The fact that my relatives are not with me
Separated by an ocean
My memories of my home toss and turn
Like waves in the ocean
My house I can only remember in my dreams
Except for the gigantic mango and coconut tree
Now I picture them as tall skyscrapers for I was too scared to climb them
There was a Sari-Sari store across the street
Oh all the delightful goodies there that I did eat
My favorite, Ube cake a mixture of purple yam and young coconut
Just a little bit farther down the block
One of the National Cemeteries
Where some of my family members have a plot
Oh I cry just thinking of that place
For I know that it is
Some of my relatives’ resting place
My Nanay once told me
That I will return home
So that the family can be reunited and all my emotions be set free
When will that day come?
My soul is burning to go
So that my mind, body, and spirit can feel truly at home
Whether it’s from city to city
To seven hundred plus islands
The Philippines will always be considered my home
Paul @ Plaza Branch Library
All those times we used to share,
In my heart they’ll always be there,
Even though you’re gone,
My memories will live on,
You taught me to be good,
And stay in school,
You were always cool
The way you never acted like a fool
It’s funny how its only been three years…
It seems like yesterday,
When you left the world,
And you passed on.
You passed on al your
light to us
You guided us to be like
With deep regret, we
Who love you, will never forget.
Trang @ North-East Branch Library
The water of the river flows,
Over the sands of time,
Like the ground covered with snow,
With on the ground grow thyme.
Like the blackness of crows,
And the greenness of lime
The arrow of sorrow is shot from the bow,
But only death comes with time.
But time is no matter after death,
When thou has lived a wondrous life,
For when you’re taking your last breath,
You will hear the lament of the fife.
For at death’s door dost thou knock,
To heaven’s gate your soul will flock.
Ashlie @ Trails West Branch Library
Sitting in her chair
In her pink room
An eerie smile
Etched upon her face
Sitting on her bed
The look of insanity
That I see in her eyes
Bore into me
A desk-rattling shriek
Like a warrior
Charging into battle
Closing the distance between us
Like an eagle catching a mouse
Like a lion
Catching a zebra
Her long brown hair
Fanning out behind her
Straight as a swordfish
Gliding through the ocean
She slams into me
Rock my body
Rolling through the Indian Ocean
I cannot breathe
Through the house
The source of it all
My Insane Sister
Lorenzo @ Waldo Branch Library
I keep thinking to myself,
“Don’t make the same mistake twice”.
I keep listening to everyone else, getting their opinion
This sometimes sounds nice.
When really I should listen to me.
I hate to look in my heart and it’s something I don’t want to see
In my mind though I see visions of you and me.
I guess @ times it seems to be okay but then I think about the yesterday
And all those feelings go away.
My mind says sure lets stay stuck,
But this heart is built Ford, Strong tough
I try to go but yesterday comes back like thick mud.
I try to push anyway but my engine has already been flooded with tears.
Not by you but by others.
You didn’t appreciate this classic when she dangled you the keys
And now the New School blew out and you ready to leave.
I stayed in the shop waiting for you (like a dummy)
And now all my friends…Caprice, Cadillac and Impala are telling me you wanna Holla.
Well you know what?
I am a Black Mustang Wild and free
And your Low-rider can’t handle me
So hand over the keys and put that hydraulic down,
Because you Mr., can’t touch this Golden Crown.
Adavia @ Westport Branch Library
Deep down in the bottom of my soul
It’s burning inside the collaboration of thoughts are distorted
By the question, who am I?
Am I a writer, am I a poet, or am I just simply out of touch,
Because I don’t admit some of the things I come up with just seem too much.
But the reality of the matter is that I’m cold like that
I’m not trying to sound conceited but what I say to you is for a fact
For the great consumption is a gift that I behold
To stand under the tree in the breeze
My thoughts unfold but to say I’m good doesn’t answer the question, who am I?
I’m going to do my best to give you the things I confide
You see this poet only have what her heart pours out and well the other half
Is just too deep to talk about
The thoughts in mind mix in with the way I feel especially when my thoughts are real,
As real as I can imagine them to be sometimes
Like the sparks that’s made with just one thought
When mind combine, I search to find the words I see than arrange
Them in my speech
But first it’s better to write them down and let if flow out on a sheet
Then double check what you hear so nothing goes to waste,
My ways, my thoughts transformed to words to give you
Just a taste
Michelle @ Bluford Branch Library
Dark chocolate black bare feet
With callus underneath
Walking along a narrow dusty road
His shadow walks beside him
Under the street light
His silence were his eyes for he was blink
His hands touch the ghosts
Often traveling along side
His bare bones visible through his aging clothes
But the like of warrior his courage rose
Alongside the many soldiers
Whom march to the rhythm of their own drums
Innocence rests in his weary eyes
When ask “Boy, why do you walk all these miles”
He held his head to the heavens and reply
If I can’t find freedom here
Then me and my weary bones
Will keep walking until we find freedom’s home
Jessica @ Southeast Branch Library