Welcome to the world of powerful self-expression, where we delve into some hand picked and diverse Monologues For Teen Girls. This is your ultimate guide, providing insightful, emotionally compelling, and age-appropriate monologues for teenage girls that will help them take their first confident steps in acting or public speaking. These Teen Girl Monologues are designed to inspire, challenge, and empower young women, helping them develop their craft whether be it In class or for an audition.
The monologues for girls featured in this article are thoughtfully curated to cater to diverse interests, whether you prefer dramatic, comedic, or classical pieces. So, gear up to traverse the path of theatrical self-expression, where your voice echoes the stories and emotions that need to be heard. Remember, your introduction to the world of monologues starts here, and it’s going to be one unforgettable journey.
Teen Girl Monologues
“Tar Beach” by Tammy Ryan
REENIE: Pretend this is a dream. This is a dream you’re having about me. About a girl you don’t know. It’s okay—you don’t have to understand everything right now. This is only the beginning. It’s the only way I can tell this story.
It is July 12, 1977. It’s hot and I’m sitting in my mother’s closet where she stores all of her things. Winter clothes are jam packed in here. And boxes and boxes of stuff. Memories. Photographs, drawings and homemade cards, like the little soap fish my sister made in Brownies. My parents’ wedding pictures, all of our baby pictures, every school picture since kindergarten, the red construction paper Valentine’s Day hearts on white doilies. Stuff like that you save forever. There is a ladder in here, too, if, we want to get out.
(She stands suddenly.)
Like if there was a fire, we could escape onto the roof. We could jump roof to roof to roof until we got to safety—or Atlantic Avenue—whichever came first. Except—there’s not always enough warning, before things catch on fire.
(She pushes her way through the closet.)
Reaching through her scratchy coats and polyester pants suits I find the ladder. Yank it open, then climb hand over hand pulling myself up out of quicksand to get to the top, then both hands flat against the ceiling PUSH as HARD as I CAN to OPEN it—
(SOUND of a trap door lifting as THE LIGHT from the closet shines straight up into the night sky. She walks to the edge and takes a deep breath.)
Down there, it’s like you’re trapped on the A train, in the tunnel, under the river, packed with people and it’s a hundred and fifty degrees with no air. My Father doesn’t believe in air conditioning. Okay, he believes in air conditioner. And it’s in their bedroom, where it’s so loud you can hear it, but they’re the only ones who can feel it.
(WE HEAR the sound of the elevated TRAIN rumble past, distant SIRENS, a couple SHOUTING at each other, and then distant WAVES crashing softly onshore.)
Up here, I can breathe even though it’s like a hundred degrees out and so humid we might as well be under water…. Sometimes if I concentrate, I can smell salt from the ocean… if there’s a breeze.
(She looks up as the SOUND of an AIRPLANE flying overhead.)
There were never any stars in the sky. Okay: Star. Sometimes there’s one. But no,
that’s an airplane…
(She follows the plane, looking out over the neighborhood.)
…if I could fly… I’d be gone.
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St Jane’s School for Ice Cream (by Patrick Cullen)
Jane stands up on a chair in front of assembly:
Jane: Attention everyone! I have an announcement! After months of meetings and talks between us the students, the cafeteria and the parents association I am pleased to announce as your class president that starting today, we will have ice cream and jelly after every meal! When I ran on an icecream platform for the job of class president a lot of people thought I was crazy. They said ‘Ice cream? For Lunch? At our school? No way!’ or ‘I’m lactose intolerant, I can’t eat ice cream!’ and even ‘How is ice cream going to help my grades?’ But we showed them! You believed in me and I believed in you! And now we have finally achieved our dreams! No more will we head back to class after lunch feeling tired and sad – because this is no longer St Margaret’s School for girls but St Janes School for Ice Cream! So please form an orderly cue over here and remember a vote for Jane is a vote for freedom!
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Stop Playing The Victim
By Joseph Arnone
In this teen monologue, Sally visits her best friend and is yet again met with her friend’s negative attitude that she is sick of dealing with for so long.
Sally: I’m trying to understand something. Why is it that when I talk to you about things that make me happy you always get down? Whenever I talk to you about things that upset me, you always get so involved.
Do you want me to be miserable in my life? I feel as though the only way for us to have any relationship is when things are bad. I don’t want things to be bad. I want to talk about good things. I want to hear you tell me good things. Why is that so hard for you? Do you realize that every time I come over here you have nothing nice to say. You are always complaining and moaning about your work, your boyfriend, your family, your apartment…you never have anything happy going on it seems.
It’s like the only way you can exist and communicate is by raging against something. Doesn’t that exhaust you? It takes more energy to be miserable than be happy. Try being happy and stop playing the victim all the time.
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‘The Dining Room’ by A. R. Gurney
Summary: Sarah searches for drinks while she tells her friend Helen what it’s like to eat in the dining room with her family.
SARAH: Which do you want? Gin or Vodka? (Looking at bottles) Well, there’s more gin, so it’s less chance they’ll notice. But the reason there’s more gin is that I put water in it last week. Tell you what. We’ll mix in a little of both. Whenever they’re home, my father insists that we all eat in the dining room at seven o’clock. (Hands Helen her drink) Here. Gin and vodka and Fresca. The boys are bringing the pot.
We have to lug things out, and lug things back, and nobody can begin till everything’s cold, and we’re supposed to carry on a decent conversation, and everyone has to finish before anyone can get up, and it sucks, if you want to know. It sucks out loud. My parents said they tried eating in the kitchen when I went to boarding school. But when I got kicked out, they moved back in here. It’s supposed to give me some sense of stability. It just makes me nervous. They take the telephone off the hook so no one can call, and my brother gets itchy about his homework, and when my sister had anorexia, she still had to sit here and watch, for God’s sake, and my parents spend most of the meal bitching, and the whole thing bites, Helen. It really bites. It bites the big one. Want another?
Teen Female Dramatic Monologues
By: Adam Szymkowicz
ALLEGRA: I know you’re probably mad at me for leaving before the funeral, but I just can’t do it. My whole body itches and it won’t stop until I get in a car and can’t see this house or this town or this state from the rearview window.
This way is better. This way I’ll come back from my trip and go straight to school and you won’t have to look at me or think about me. You can tell people you have a daughter but you won’t have to talk to me on the phone or see me on the couch. I’ll be a no-maintenance daughter just like you always wanted.
I’m going to go now. I know someday you’ll want to talk to me again. Maybe after I graduate and get a job and get married and buy a house and have my own daughter. Then you can talk to her and be her favorite and then we can pretend you were a really great mother. She won’t know and I don’t have to tell her.
But now I’m going to get on the road and push you out of my mind and I probably won’t think of you until I get to the grand canyon or some other fairly good canyon and maybe I’ll cry in front of the mammoth orange hole in the ground or maybe I’ll smile because it’s so beautiful and I’m free and windswept.
But first I’m going to get into Suzy’s mom’s car and we’ll drive till there’s just drops left in the tank and as we cross the border into Massachusetts, we’ll roll into the first gas station where I’ll get some Ding Dongs and some orange soda and I’ll bite into the first one sitting on the hood, watching the car slurp up gas. Then I’ll get in the driver’s seat and put my foot on the accelerator until I can’t keep my eyes open anymore. So I pull over and we both close our eyes and sleep until we’re awoken at three am by separate but equally terrible nightmares.
Dogface by Kellie Powell
Dogface: This is how it happens: One minute, you’re just another awkward second-grader. And then your mom takes you and your brother to her friend’s house, out in the country. You get out of the car, and there’s a big yellow dog wagging his tail at you. And your mom and your brother go to ring the doorbell, and you get down on your knees in front of this friendly dog, and you’re petting him… And then, suddenly, the dog snaps his jaws. And your life as you know it… ends. It happens so fast… You’re not even sure what happened. It feels like a very sharp pinch, and then it’s spreading, fast through your whole face. There’s blood. There’s a lot of blood. You yell for your mom, you run towards her. She turns, and when she sees you, she gasps in horror and she covers your brother’s eyes, and she screams to him, “Don’t look!” That’s how these things happen, I guess. Anyway, that’s how it happened to me. The dog never barked, never growled. He followed after me, still friendly and playful. Blood pouring from the holes in my face… and he’s looking at me, wagging his tail. My mother grabbed my jacket from the car, and told me to hold it tight against my face. I was crying. I was so panicked I felt like I was choking. At the hospital, nurses were coming in, mopping up blood and asking questions and trying to establish how much of my face was still there, whether the nerve endings were alive. My face felt puffy and I was light-headed. The nurses were friendly, they wanted me to trust them. And I did. I believed them when they said that doctors would be able to fix me. My father didn’t – he couldn’t – look directly at me. He kept staring at a space on the wall above me. He kept saying, “You’re being very brave.” I didn’t feel brave. I was still crying, but quietly. I was pressing cotton against my face, just wanting it to be over. I just wanted to go home. And then, I was lying on a table, squinting into a bright light above me. I can’t feel the stitches, but if I look out of the corner of my right eye, I can see it, the silver needle, moving up and down. So I don’t look. They keep talking to me. Half the time I don’t know what they’re saying, the other half of the time, they’re telling me how brave I am, but that’s only because they don’t know how afraid I feel. You’re not allowed to cry or they might mess up your stitches. You can’t move at all. They keep saying, “It will all be over soon.” They lied. I was conscious the entire time. I was awake while they sewed my face back together. What I remember most is the bright light, and the strangely disembodied voices of my parents and the doctors, trying to keep the patient calm. When they finally let me see myself, when they gave me a mirror, I had prepared myself for a Halloween mask, for a horror movie, for a nightmare. But the blood had been cleaned away. It was just neat rows of stitches. I was actually relieved. But then I went back to school. And then the real trauma began.
A RAISIN IN THE SUN
A monologue from the play by Lorraine Hansberry
Beneatha: When I was small… we used to take our sleds out in the wintertime and the only hills we had were the ice-covered stone steps of some houses down the street.
And we used to fill them in with snow and make them smooth and slide down them all day… and it was very dangerous, you know… far too steep…and sure enough one day a kid named Rufus came down too fast and hit the sidewalk and we saw his face just split open right there in front of us…
And I remember standing there looking at his bloody open face thinking that was the end of Rufus. But the ambulance came and they took him to the hospital and they fixed the broken bones and sewed it all up… and the next time I saw Rufus he just had a little line down the middle of his face…. I never got over that… What one person could do for another, fix him up – sew up the problem, make him all right again.
That was the most marvelous thing in the world… I wanted to do that. I always thought it was the one concrete thing in the world a human being could do. Fix up the sick, you know – and make them whole again. This was truly being God… It used to be so important to me. It used to matter. I used to care.
Yes – I think [I stopped]. Because it doesn’t seem deep enough, close enough to what ails mankind! It was a child’s way of seeing things – or an idealist’s. You are still where I left off. You with all of your talk and dreams about Africa! You still think you can patch up the world. Cure the Great Sore of Colonialism – (loftily, mocking it) with the Penicillin of Independence – !
Independence and then what? What about the crooks and thieves and just plain idiots who will come into power and steal and plunder the same as before – only now they will be black and do it in the name of the new independence – WHAT ABOUT THEM?
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BOY ON BLACK TOP ROAD
By Dale Wasserman
Donna (eighteen): All my life I’ve been a coward. There’s reason, I guess . . . plenty reason to be scared. What’s bad is that it makes you cruel.
You turn cruel when somebody probes that little nest of fear you hide inside. You lash out with your claws, and you wound and you hurt whoever sees inside you.
You can’t bear that anyone should see that you’re not cocky, you’re afraid. But you are — of so many things. Of being hated . . . or loved.
Of failure . . . and maybe of success. Of growing old. We’re afraid of the dark before the lights come on. Then we’re afraid of the light, what it might show.
Afraid to die. Maybe more afraid of living. But of all the stuff there is to fear, I guess the worst is loneliness. (A pause.) . . . Sure as hell, company doesn’t help.
If you want to find real Grade-A blue ribbon loneliness, try a crowd. Even a crowd of one. I have . . . oh, God, so many times.
I’d be alone for a while, until the ache was right up in my throat and I’d be hollering without a sound, saying, “Know me. Discover me.
I’m here, inside — somebody, please.” But they couldn’t hear my silent voice, so after a while I’d be saying, “Make love to me.”
They didn’t ask much. They didn’t get much. (She giggles.) You wouldn’t know about that. The big bad sex-express. “Love me, love me — well, if you can’t love me, OK, f*** me.”
It’s like a dance . . . all the moves have been rehearsed, you just follow the music. (Singing, raucously.) “Circle round and dosey do, All change partners, off we go!” (Quietly again.)
And that’s how it goes. Time after time after time. Reach out for love and find you’ve been stuck with sex. Booby-trapped by your own hormones!
Female Classical Teen Monologues
OPHELIA: O, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown!
The courtier’s, scholar’s, soldier’s, eye, tongue, sword,
Th’ expectancy and rose of the fair state,
The glass of fashion and the mould of form,
Th’ observ’d of all observers- quite, quite down!
And I, of ladies most deject and wretched,
That suck’d the honey of his music vows,
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason,
Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh;
That unmatch’d form and feature of blown youth
Blasted with ecstasy. O, woe is me
T’ have seen what I have seen, see what I see!
Age: 20s 30s Teens
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There’s No Place Like Oz
by Gabriel Davis
Dorothy: Oh Toto, what were we thinking coming back here to Kansas?
Sure, the first few days back were great. Auntie Em and Uncle Henry by my side, bringing me soup, all hugs and kisses and warmth. They were just so glad I was ok.
But now that I’m fine … everything’s gone back to the way it was. Auntie Em just acts like I’m in the way again. She’s busy making sure Uncle Henry tends to the farm properly, and his farm hands don’t sleep on the job. Plus she’s taking care of everything in the house and I’m … I’m just that annoying girl talking about scarecrows and tin men and Emerald cities.
Yesterday she told me to stop talking such nonsense or she’d call for the men in white coats. I’m sure she was just trying to scare me … right, Toto? She would never … why that’d be more wicked than the witch of the West, wouldn’t it?
No Auntie Em loves me, she would never do that. What was that noise? If she hears me talking to you … she’d say you’re just a dog and you don’t understand me … but you do understand me don’t you Toto?
It’s just you and I together in this world Toto and I know you feel like I do … you long for the Emerald City don’t you? You wonder how scarecrow is getting on with his diploma? Has he gone on to graduate studies? Or the Tin Man with his heart. Has he fallen in love? The Lion with his badge of courage. Has he fought any great battle?
If only we could write them? But we can’t, can we? No, the only way to see them again is to travel far off, over the rainbow, way up high once again. To the land that everyone says we dreamed of! But it was more than a dream, wasn’t it Toto? Bark twice for “Yes.”
Oh Toto! You do understand me! That’s why we have to get back to Oz. Where everything is in color and even the flying monkeys have a song in their hearts. I tried to click my heals together yesterday, but my slippers here are too drab … So … There’s a jewelry shop in town … and they have Rubies! So what we need to do is steal uncle Henry’s truck, he keeps a shotgun in the shed, we’ll need that too …
Oh it’s not a crime, Toto if no-one gets hurt. We need those rubies and I’ve got glue to attach them to my slippers. Before the police come, we’ll have glued them all onto my slippers and clicked our heels together and we’ll be well on our way back to Oz.
It’s the perfect plan, right? Bark twice for “Yes.”
Type: Comedy / Drama
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One Sunday Afternoon by James Hagan
[This lovely, if somewhat sentimental play, written in 1930, is about young love in a small Midwestern town. Amy, a romantic young girl, has a crush on the town bully and she’s describing it to her friend Virginia.]
AMY: I don’t know. Maybe it was love, I don’t know, but— Well, when I was very young— of course, that’s a long time ago, you understand. It was in school. There was this boy. I don’t know‐‐he never looked at me and I never…Virginia, did you ever have a feeling in your heart‐‐Something that you feel is going to happen and it doesn’t— that’s the way my heart was— (she touches her heart) It wasn’t love, I know that— (pause) He never even noticed me. I could have been a stick in the mud as far as he was concerned. Virginia, this boy always seemed lonely somehow. Everybody had it in for him, even the teachers—they called him bully—but I know he wasn’t. I saw him do a lot of good things—when the big boys picked on the smaller ones, he helped the little fellows out. I know he had a lot of good in him—good, that nobody else could see—that’s why my heart longs for him.
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Dentity Crisis by Christopher Durang
JANE: When I was eight years old, someone brought me to a theatre with lots of other children. We had come to see a production of Peter Pan. And I remember something seemed wrong with whole production, odd things kept happening. Like when the children would fly, the ropes breaking and the actors would come thumping to ground an they’d have to be carried off by the stagehands. There seemed to be an unlimited supply of understudies to take the children’s places, and then they’d fall to the ground. And then the crocodile that chases Captain Hook seemed to be a real crocodile, It wasn’t an actor, and at one point it fell off the stage, crushing several children in the front row. Several understudies came and took their places in the audience. And from scene to scene Wendy seemed to get fatter and fatter until finally by the second act she was immobile and had to be moved with a cart. The voice belonged to the actress playing peter pan. You remember how in the second act Tinkerbell drinks some poison that Peter’s about to drink, in order to save him? And then Peter turns to the audience and he says that Tinkerbell’s going to die because not enough people believe in fairies, but that if everybody in the audience claps real hard to show that they do believe in fairies, then maybe Tinkerbell won’t die. and so then all the children started to clap. we clapped very hard and very long. my palms hurt and even started to bleed I clapped so hard. then suddenly the actress playing Peter Pan turned to the audience and she said, ” that wasn’t enough. You didn’t clap hard enough. Tinkerbell’s dead. ” uh..well, and..and then everyone started to cry. The actress stalked offstage and refused to continue with the play, and they finally had to bring down the curtain. No one could see anything through all the tears, and the ushers had to come help the children up the aisles and out into the street. I don’t think any of us were ever the same after that experience.
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We hope you enjoyed this curated list of Monologues For Teen Girls. We hope this comprehensive guide to monologues for girls has provided you with some significant insights and choices to kickstart your acting journey.