Teen Poetry

Head pounding. I can’t remember anything.

I catch a glimpse of myself,

A reflection in a window,

Except, it’s not me.

A Barbie stares back.

The shiny girl in the reflection

Is tall and her stomach looks hollow,

Wearing a smile that seems

Cemented on her porcelain face.

She has makeup caked on her skin,

Long lashes and a bold red lip.

I manage to sit down before I collapse.

My vision blurs and I keel over.

I remember a door. A door marked:

Femininity.

I recall opening it,

But I can’t remember what waited on the other side.

I feel like crying, but the hideous eyeliner

Has sealed my tear ducts shut.

I’m missing something very important,

But I can’t put a finger on it.

Then there’s the sound of a TV,

Playing a generic makeup commercial.

It says: Feeling lost? Apply the Perfect Foundation.

And then it hits me.

I lost myself,

Somewhere in the horrible place

That lay beyond that

Pretty pink door.

STARS AND BEAR

Natalie Simmonds, age 18, Los Alamos

My mythology is as endless as

The infinite galaxy

Traumatic

And fun

All a part of me

As beautiful as the Stars

In the Night Sky

As mysterious as the

Moon

I am my own

Person

Childlike

Teenager

Daughter

Collector

I am the child

I’m not sure if

It was already

Written in the stars to

Lose my bear

And for him to return

I had hoped

He would grow wings

And fly the middle path

Home to me

It was a hopeless

Dream

But, just like a pair of wings

The bear made it home,

He is a part of me

ENCHANTED FIRE

Sydnee Etuk, age 15, Los Alamos

My mare is as gentle as the fluttering leaves of autumn.

Though she is as fierce as a burning flame.

Her gentle whiskers feel like lapping waves tickling your toes.

But her stride is as burly as a tropical storm.

I have seen blizzards mighty enough to freeze you.

But in her eyes I only see warmth.

Hear the belting of the thunder on rainy nights.

My mare has a soft melodic voice, unlike the harsh thunder.

I love to watch her run,

And I see no other as graceful as her.

The flowing streams in the moors are thick and beautiful,

Though her tail is as thin as a straw broom.

I fear when I have to say goodbye,

I will not be able to let her go, as my mare is like no other.