The art of teenage life

Behind the scenes there is undoubtedly strife

Intentional, unintentional often times downright humorous

Smirks at me with my impending ‘fuss’

Yes ‘I’ve done my homework mum’

Yes ‘I’ve brushed my teeth’

As his eyes roll, what in gods name had he done to deserve this ‘grief’

I will not sound like my own mother I implore

As I hear yet another slam of the door.

Inevitably the sentences trip off my tongue

I kid myself it’s a song unsung.

The tense conversations around GCSE revision

The comical tales just like the ‘inbetweeners’ on television

Belly laugh and frustration in equal measure

How did he become such a treasure?

As we dance this dance a masquerade

Between coarse practical conversation as tempers get frayed

The smokescreen reveals a wonderful young man

Beyond his phone screen he proves, in life, in fact he capably can.

Incredibly proud of my teen, even if his room needs a hefty clean.

A tenacious relationship, steady and full of joy.

I see myself in the eyes of this once boy.

by
Tracey Bailey

I have none.

1 dog, myself, 1 daughter and 2 sons.

A passion for writing.

That loiters in the background.

Time for which is rarely found.

No time to stop and pause within.

I find my patience running thin.

Make time they say.

Have some discipline I echo.

I'll have this written in a seco.

Rush here, rush there.

Maybe I'll get a wild hare.

The impulse to write never goes away.

It sits like a little neglected friend on my shoulder, that wants to hand me a bouquet.

Whether this verse makes sense or not, for now it's all I got.