Sweet sixteen

Sixteen isn’t always sweet.

This piece is stitched from exhaustion, expectation, heartbreak, and hope.

For every quiet girl who studies past midnight, skips lunch, and cries alone.

For the ones who want to be everything, and end up feeling like nothing.

I wrote this when the noise was too loud and I couldn’t speak.

So I let the poem speak for me.

Note- A slam poem best read out loud

Sometimes I spend hours staring at the ceiling,

Pen in hand, brain dreaming about when I’ll be sleeping.

I gaze down at my phone, unable to look up,

Convincing myself I need a break

When in reality, I just procrastinate.

I suffocate, unable to concentrate.

My bed isn’t made, and won’t be for hours,

My lunch still in my bag next to a shrivelled pot of flowers.

I don’t have superpowers.

Once again, I find myself staring at a screen,

Scrolling mindlessly, hopelessly

The weight of my work only hitting me finally.

I dive in, working relentlessly,

Until it’s late, or more precisely, early.

That night is spent studying and crying,

Trying my best to fight the fatigue,

Before I fall asleep,

Realising this battle is out of my league.

At school, I’m too tired for the drama

That earns another girl her karma.

Confused, I get dragged in,

And my world starts to spin

Like the four seasons on a violin.

I’m stuck with no room to discuss,

And the fuss means hell on the school bus.

Too tired to socialise, I stare at the skies,

Not even thinking about guys.

All the girls wear makeup,

While I can barely keep my chin up.

After all, I always mess up.

And then I realise

My friends aren’t sweet like honey,

But fake like a snake,

Or a poisonous birthday cake.

I end up with a headache,

Caused by heartache

Not even fake.

Lying wide awake,

Pondering my mistake.

I’ve got parents to impress.

A good mark?

Just more stress.

If I don’t do as well next time, I’ll be a mess.

No more progress, just failed success.

But a bad grade?

They’ll feel betrayed.

I’ll be surveyed on my time and ways,

And that guilt won’t leave for days and days.

Every yawn in class earns a glare

A look that screams I shouldn’t be there.

Like I’m invisible, just thin air.

I think about my mince pie for lunch

Before deciding to starve.

I’m not good enough for food.

But hunger makes me rude,

Always ruining my mood.

I want to look skinny.

Tests don’t matter as much as being tiny, size mini.

The scale defines my worth.

I feel proud in front of an empty plate,

So lightweight.

And when the numbers fluctuate,

I hesitate,

Contemplate what I ate,

Lose more weight

Then finally, I celebrate.

They say being a teenager is rough

Which means in the end,

I’m not that tough.

Today is worse.

Tests are being handed back.

I sit, anxious, with a hunchback.

I glance at the score,

Realising I know more about the zodiac

Then the cardiac system.

I really do lack wisdom...

It’s okay to struggle like a married couple.

But this isn’t love.

It’s pressure from above

And below.

Being a teenager isn’t just lame

It’s a brutal mind game.

We spiral, stuck in loops so tight,

We forget what it means to feel alright.

We shrink into sombre, sickening silence

Succeeded by solidity, suppression, stress, suffering.

This is not living, this is surviving.

When things get dangerous,

We lose our sense of purpose.

Living for others makes life feel worthless.

We do something reckless in the moment

Because we’re our own opponent.

And maybe if we were gone

There’d be no expectations to take on.

Maybe life would be easier,

Less trickier.

Because the path gets smoother.

The mirror gets clearer.

And your value grows nearer.

Maturity is realising

It isn’t being skinnier, richer, or tougher

That makes you happier.

Stay a teenager a little longer.

Because when you grow up

You’ll learn the mirror is not a monster.

Seeing yourself larger is just an error,

It shouldn’t bring you terror.

This is not true horror.

And once you age

Once you get past this phase

Only then will you comprehend

Maybe, just maybe

Life was worth living in the end.

© 2025 Elowen Skye. All rights reserved.

“Not here to be seen, just read.”