Torture lies beneath this skin.

The laurel wreath is growing thin.

We are throwing down the lustrous crowns

Because within us we feel it bound.

 

Bound by paper, green in its color;

Bound by staying bonded with each other;

Bound by wolves that call our names

To choose to be wild or make ourselves tame.

 

Pull them up and stretch them out;

These whispered words made loud as shouts.

Don't be mistaken, we'll make our marks;

Our voices carving, they'll break your heart.

 

But if these walls fell on themselves

I'd still have nothing else to tell;

Tears falling now, And to the ground,

Where flowers grow until feet come pound;

Where flowers grow; feet crush and compound.

 

Mortar and pestle ground down the life:

It ripped down the joy and put up the strife.

It pulls out the strings of piano, guitar;

Stripped down the dreams; tore down the stars

 

Rusty places, random faces, just lips moving never staying

Whipped and beaten Stripped mistreated Keep obeying Never swaying

 

Courage fading

Life awaiting

People praying

War is razing

 

Fight to your last breath

And don't let it go.

Hold it tight;

Be solid as stone.

 

We fight with our smiles

We fight with our words

We fight with these styles

This benevolent couture

 

Skaters Painters Waiters

No haters Players Gamers Strayers

from Feigners

Believers and Trailblazers

Creators and groundbreakers

 

And we are the future because we are the fray

And We make the sun shine brighter for the next day.

We move the mountains and we turn the tides.

We the Worn Youth will give our all for all of our lives.

 

Worn Youth  by Russ-Ahna Davenport

 

Newsworthy, Opinions, Poetry, Editorials (NOPE).

 

Teen words, right here, in your eye balls @ Teens Ink.