I wrote this poem about troubled teens to hopefully raise awareness that there is a need for us to reach out and help them. There is so much more that lies beneath the surface of what we see, and we should remember that before giving up on them so easily.
To you I’m just a number, part of what statistics say.
I’m that rebellious teenager that you see every day.
Drive by shootings, sex and drugs try to take away the pain.
You want me out of your way because you can’t explain.
Ever walk through juvie hall and look into my eyes?
You’ll see the fear, and hate, and pain that never seems to die.
Behind all of my cussing and the toughness I put on,
There’s a remnant of a heart that others say is gone.
Why don’t you try to see past the number on my shirt?
You’d see the fights, the words, the hate leads right down to the hurt.
I may not have the home life, nice friends or name brand clothes,
But you don’t have to look at me like this is the life I chose.
No one ever understands me, and no one even tries.
They wonder why I act this way, then they ignore my cries.
I guess hopelessness is easier than dealing with me now.
They want a model citizen, but they won’t show me how.
When I die, you pass my grave with a sad shake of your head,
But if you tried to show you cared, I might not be dead.
You’ve looked through my eyes before, maybe just a glance years ago,
But if you look once again, you would see and finally know.
I take life as it comes, take the hits until I fall.
Until I’m too worn, and sad, and hurt to try to fight at all.
Ever pass me on the street and look into my eyes?
Ever wonder about my past? Ever try to hear my cries?
I am homeless. I’m forgotten. I’m still just a teen.
How easily they can forget what they have never seen.
Before you judge or label me a statistic off the chart,
Remember that beneath it all…I have a broken heart.