Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

I'm from moving


I’m from brown boxes bestrewn in my home,
leaving me nothing except alone.
Nobody to play with, nothing to do,
Writing up cards saying “I will miss you.”

I’m from the fumes of a new paint lingering in my nose,
Making me miss feeling at home.
Slowly letting my memories fade,
And hoping these ones will stay.

I’m from a racing heart and sweaty palms,
meet and greets that just go wrong.
Hoping it will get better as time goes on,
solely to realize this won't be home for long.

I’m from one year in and one year out,
Making me want to scream and shout.
Wanting to go back to where I wasn't alone,
I’m from brown boxes bestrewn in my home.




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