A comment from Brenda (here) made me think of the following poem, which I wrote when I was 13:
Hatred is a weed that grows,
Inside a troubled mind,
Churning thoughts of wretched things,
That twist and knot and bind
The remedy is only this —
(if you’ve an ear to lend),
A laugh, a kiss, a cheerful glance,
The kindness of a friend.
— Andrea Ross, age 13
Pictured above, tween-age me and Olivia Newton John — breast cancer survivor.