Teen Ink

From Our Print Magazinewritten by teens

Your Heart Was My Home Until..

I removed the layers of blankets from my aching bones to excavate the secrets that were held together by saliva in papier-mâché envelopes, only to chew on disappointments and lie on shards of fragile stained glass that tampered with my flaws,... (more »)

Spreading Love

By Emily X., Warren, NJ

It is night in March, and the sun has set. February would probably be more appropriate for this, but when you get ideas on February twenty-fifth and they require as much effort to implement as this one does, well then, February isn’t really an... (more »)

The Hospital Visit

By Catherine O., Arlington Heights, IL

It was the day before Rosh Hashanah, but I wasn’t Jewish. I was heading into the hospital, but I wasn’t sick. The lobby was like the starting gate at a racetrack: a line of wheelchairs filled with former patients, a group of healed people... (more »)

Dr. Maya Angelou, Poet

By Luke A. & Kortney R., Unknown, Unknown

Born Marguerite Johnson in 1928, Dr. Maya Angelou survived a segregated, violent childhood in Arkansas and left for a life lived around the world. Talented in dance and music, a civil rights crusader and professor, Dr. Angelou is best known... (more »)

My Religion

By Sarah M., Lakewood, CO

I have a magnet on my mirror stating, “Life is not about finding yourself – life is about creating yourself.” This is the statement I live by. Many people do not believe me when I say I am an atheist. They don’t understand that I simply... (more »)

All But My Life by by Gerda..

By Michael S., Akron, OH

Imagine this: one morning you awake in your cozy suburban home to the loud sounds of destruction from outside. You look to see that tanks are destroying everything in their path and soldiers are taking your neighbors from their homes. You hear a... (more »)

Boxer Pledges Excellence

By Sophie M., Wolfforth, TX

Our Instructor Challenged Us To Use Three Items To Tell A Story. Each Item Should Support The Theme Of The Photo (more »)

Waiting for the Bus

By Rose B., Savannah, GA

Last summer, I found myself sitting on a couch opposite a 38-year-old Filipino man named Peter who smelled like stale tuna, dirt, and a dream deferred. “Where are you from?” I asked. “Here.” “What made you homeless?”... (more »)