This is my best poem so far! It was an assignment for my school but I'm proud of it...I might reuse the first stanza because it sounds kinda weird. Let me know what y'all think of it or if you have any improvements! (The assignment was to write a 14-line poem on being a teenager or tween and to use figurative language...)

Losing Innocence

I watch my childhood disappear,

Turn and see it burn,

Bright embers turn to lifeless coals,

The point of no return.

The bright newfangled phone

Consumes my waking days

What happened to the ancientness

Of simple pen and page?

My thumb flicks constantly

My index finger sore,

But I don't care at all

For childish band-aids anymore.

All this is part of growing up

A process we might hate,

But when it's fully finished,

You'll see what is your fate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ok, yeah, it's pretty dark but at least it fits the requirements...The lines 3 and 4 of the third stanza didn't used to have the "at all" in it.

Anyways, I tried my best! 

A very silly poem which I made up when we went to the bank ATM the other day and my dad was trying to get the receipt out of its slot.

I ripped my receipt in half -
'Twas a silly thing to do;
But you see, the trouble was,
It stuck in its slot like glue.

So I pulled and I pulled my receipt
And out of its slot it came:
But I'm afraid that after that
It never was the same.

Jay: Hehe I wrote that poem about being unable to spell the word 'bueatiful.' It's a limerick! Here it is:

There once was a boy named Jay.

His spelling was okay.

But though his effort was indisputable,

He never could spell 'beuatiful,'

And still can't to this very day.

Jay Again: The rhythm is off, I think because the third line is too long. I wrote a different version, where it is one syllable shorter, but it doesn't make quite as much sense. Here it is:

There once was a boy named Jay.

His spelling was simply okay.

But though he was ever so dutiful,

He never could spell 'beuatiful,'

And still can't to this very day.

Still Jay: Anybody have any tips? Any alternate versions of the third line (which is still too long, even in the second version)?

~Chaser & Jay

Nostalgia brings the undertow 

nothing makes me so overwhelmed as remembering-

drowning among waves of memories i hurt so deeply for,

pinned down by the envy of ignorance

as fuzzy images float innocently by.

a wave collapses upon me, and it is the summer i was seven.

my figure burns a trail through a thousand places; out to the back patio and i am

building empires in chalk with my sister; up the library steps and i am

dragging a canvas bag of a dozen new tales back home; onto the front porch and i am

savoring an ice pop in my pink swimsuit, all to the proud cicada chorus.

my worries melt like snowmen under a sanguine sun.

another surge of water and third grade is in full swing.

memories like swallows dive in and out of their nest; one swoops down and i am

entranced with my teacher’s reading of “Harry Potter”; another glides away and i am

creating a lego fort with three new friends; a third soars upwards and i am

straining to hear the tiny peep from a chick egg, all in a close-knit class of thirteen.

my passion burns like a campfire consuming my thoughts.

the merciless waters spit me out upon the shore-

lungs full of salt and bones weeping for rest as i look up,

the stars so small among the black

as the tide tugs at my aching feet.

Song of the Dead Queen

A timeless land not far or near,
A clear lake of crystal tears,
A clinic case of cliched fears,
The dead queen sings.

Her voice is strong, a mournful song,
An icy edge for he who wronged,
And now she only sees the lost
And ‘what could have been.’

Her husband, he who loved her so,
Who’d sworn she’d never see him go,
Who’d left of no choice of his own,
Who’d tried until the end, a king.

He’d failed to keep his sacred oath,
And so the queen, grief-swept, she broke,
And empty shell, a heart of stone,
And an abandoned ring.

A tortured grin was on her face,
And ev’ry body makes mistakes.
She found a cliff, and in her place,
A razed blackland, dead kings.

The story told about that here,
Of caves that drip with crystal tears,
A woman driven by her fear,
The dead queen sings.

fingers crossed the spacing will work ahh

roseate

one: render me perfect         and shining.

i am your knight in white armor. i will love you

behind fired skin and paper eyes perfect like first snow

which i have never really seen.         i will defy my very porcelain nature

and be unbreakable, for         you.

two: draw in my depth.

color in the brown behind my skin

lace it with gold         mother of pearl        i will be

so beautiful.        you paint me into existence

adding the light and color until i am

positively         scintillating.

three: watch me try to take shape without you

clay without the hands to sculpt it        i’ll fall down.

again and again         and         again         bloom blood-red on a dove-chest

right          over the heart

four: cross me out          completely.

i am a fallen knight. i cannot love you

painted red and positively            scintillating

too colorful. too much. i am not who you once thought i was

and god, do i have too much to say

five: i am           myself          crossed out or wholely yours

i am your masterpiece and the spraypaint ungraciously slashed across it

do you still find me          beautiful

i would still be yours           first           and mine          second if i dipped my

self in vermilion           ripped off my armor and bled all over the page

would you still want me.

six: if you paint me over          white again

i will still be roseate          scarlet shining through the ivory

and still beautiful.           hello love

i wanted to be something you’d never seen before

say something worth hearing

do you miss me yet. did you think i was pretty

in white or red or iridescent and positively          scintillating

maybe i could love you anyways