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"To the Teen I Am, the Soul Becoming" I hate this stage, this in-between, Where nothing's soft and nothing's clean. A war inside, a quiet storm, Too loud to hide, too strange for form. As kids we dream of teenage days, Of freedom found in careless ways. But now I’m here, I feel the fight, The weight of wrong, the blur of right. They said it’s hard — I didn’t hear. Now every smile hides silent fear. Each breath feels like a heavy task, And love? It wears a fragile mask. I crave the kind of love that stays, Not fades like youth in burning haze. Is “true love” real or just a game We chase until we’re not the same? And yet, I hope. I always do. For something warm, for something true. To look back someday, laugh and say, “I made it through that kind of day.”