They don't know.
Do they come, or do they go?
Innocent hormones in a rage.
Pouts
Doubts
Shouts
Or, barely audible whispers.Turn the page
and you will see another still all the same.
It doesn't matter their name.
Junior High, I still proclaim,
is hell like no other place.
I teach to these misfits of a different face.
Who'd want to relive those miserable years
of angst and many tears?
Irony can be bittersweet. Oh my!
Who else would have more love than I?
So much I have heard and seen,
Once also a tortured teen.
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