Facebook Activity



Teen Ink on Twitter

Home > Advanced Search

Advanced Search Results


We found 23 items that match your search.
Switch to basic search »
Refine advanced search »
Results per page: Advanced search
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
    Celebrities name their kids some pretty crazy things. Gwyneth Paltrow, for instance, named her kid Apple. I know there’s some celebrity kid named Rocket, and another named Diesel, and frankly, it’s all gotten very out of hand. I won’t pretend to understand it. However, my parents must have...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    Some part of you is missing. I’ve searched in your eyes, in your hands, in the mirror, but somehow I’ve let you down: I’ve stolen from you and I don’t know what it is I’m to give back. Show me what I’ve stolen, describe its shape, its color, its sound. I will look in the cen...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    Some part of you is missing. I’ve searched in your eyes, in your hands, in the mirror, but somehow I’ve let you down: I’ve stolen from you and I don’t know what it is I’m to give back. Show me what I’ve stolen, describe its shape, its color, its sound. I will look in the cen...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    Look to the moon, my morning darling. She has been named chaste; barren; virginal; an untouched goddess. But look closer, sweet. Peer on her confectionary surface. See there, and there, and there – a crater. She is, perhaps, imperfect. Her marred flesh is too often overlooked by poets...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    There are voices outside my window, though I don’t know what they say; perhaps they speak of love and jest, or maybe of yesterday. There are voices outside my window, I have heard them above an hour; they have a sing-song quality, from here up in my tower. There are voices outside my w...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    What thou art we know not – “To a Skylark” by Percy Bysshe Shelley What for a bird, I cannot be sure, though to this I can attest: you caroled and crooned in the summer rain while away did hide the rest. I ask you, sweet, how can it be, that unlike drops of rain, despite your somewh...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    You know when your stomach growls and the emptiness inside seems to grow nerves and suddenly you feel with that emptiness? Well, that’s how my heart feels whenever I think of you....
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    You have ruined book stores for me. What an awful, inconsiderate thing to do. But while I browse the shelves, touching my finger to each spine, tasting the words, I begin to time travel. I time travel to the hours we ambled around novels together. I might pause at a volume and you w...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    There are things I could talk about for not just hours, but days. You, my dear, my plague, are one of them....
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    “Hey you.” That’s all it takes to start a new era. He forgot about you and remembered you all in three minutes. You stood to his left, cleared your throat, said, “Hey you.” And somehow, everything was new again....
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    Lie to me. Go ahead. It won’t make a difference. I can usually tell, anyway. So if you lie all the time, I’ll figure out what’s what, and we can go on as if you always told me the truth....
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    Her conversations were filled with ellipses. They eclipsed her words, and her silences became more meaningful than any sound she managed to produce. They said, “I love you. Don’t leave me. Call me. Forget me. Leave me. Break me. Love me.” But mostly, they said, “I don’t know wh...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    Yes, I suppose it's true: someday my prince will come, hatchet in hand, blood of previously hacked hearts on his sleeves; and I will endure it. When his axe sinks into my innocent, still-beating organ and he pries it from my breast, sliming his fingers, I will endure it. He will ...
  • Nonfiction > Travel & Culture
    My heart lies in Boston, beneath the too-green grass of the Common, next to the swan boats, across from the Charles River. My brain resides in Boston, in a high Victorian-style apartment at the city's edge, peering over the Bunker Hill bridge, which lights up spectacularly at night. My...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    First you were a poet, who tangled words to webs. And with these words, I felt a thing, quite like the water’s ebbs. Then you were a pirate, who took my heart to keep. And though I held it dear to me, I could not make me weep. Next you were a joker, who played some dirty tricks. And ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    Monday evening after dinner, I crept down to my grandparent’s basement and shuffled their stuff around until I found their collection of slides. The projector was already set up on a card table in front of the blank cement wall. No one was around so I decided it was okay if I had a look. ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    I do not have the vocabulary to express anything correctly. I ought to be shot for even trying; in fact, we all should be. We will talk on our phones, hunch over our computers, try to make sense from nothing with meaningless sounds and words. But in the end it will all be meaning...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    She would never buy a dress without pockets, for here is where she kept little leafs of scrap paper, all torn around the edges like seafoam. These bits of paper – barely wider than a finger’s width – chaoticized her life in small ways. They were the only uncalculated part of her ent...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    The problem is, if I am not talking with you, I am kissing you. It seems whatever we do, my lips are involved and get me in trouble. So I suggest this philosophy: it is not words or kisses that muddle our relationships, but our lips. And think on this – even when we write, our words rem...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    When I heard you speak, for the first time in two years, my ears bled. I didn’t remember you having that effect on me before. But I’ve also been wrong before. When you kissed me, for the first time in three years, my lips blistered over, they crusted with scabs and leaked puss, so I ...
  • Poetry > Sonnet
    Last month you pinched from me a fragile mare, the one with little icy glass-spun wings. On Tuesday night, you nabbed a bitten pear. You left me old and rusty nickel strings but then you took my acoustic guitar. Then filching my eighties punk rock CDs, you used a crowbar breaking i...
  • Fiction > Fan Fiction
    “Too much water hast thou poor Ophelia…” – Hamlet, IV.vii They all thought I drowned myself. They were wrong. Laertes was right in saying that I had too much of water. It was true that I drowned. It was, however, not intentional, nor was it exactly my fault. I may have been a simple ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    He rode through the thick of the forest While the branches whipped at his face Red from the cold and the chorus Of the wind which ransacked his lace. Below, the mare’s hooves sent a thunder Down to the depths of the earth; He feared the terrain just might sunder And the demons would have th...

Launch Teen Ink Chat
Site Feedback