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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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![]() i. verdigris festers on the cleft // mossy spiderwebs spiral from the orifice blood rusts the hook // iron corrodes the tarnished silver withered skin peels into fractals // drought disfigures my complexion ![]() Cloudy sunlight absorbs me. My soul. My thoughts melt into puddles on my pillow. Clothes curl in the corners of my room. ![]() I. You carried carrots, ‘poha’ and eggs in your tiffin everyday. Sometimes cucumbers, too. Your own friends would slice you into two with a butter knife right down the centre And sprinkle ‘chaat masala’ on you, {mocking you by saying that it was bad for you} ![]() The pitch was wet, the bat was slipping from your grip and the wickets would clash against each other every time you’d cry. You’re fighting despite the shooting pain in your left ankle, ![]() By the apartment complex next to mine, on the corner of the garden that meets the concrete stairs, there used to grow little orange flowers. They were small and delicate, with bright orange petals, with purple dots and golden pistils, and bundles of green leaves. I’d pick them every time I went outside and bring them back to my house. I’d place them in water cups and they’d wilt within the day. ![]() Was I...supposed to be happy? The cold numbed my fingers. Cotton muffled the noise of my jittering bones. “Nice to meet you.” There came my reserved whisper. I vaguely remembered muttering my name before giving a slight, instinctive bow and sitting on a comically familiar chair. ![]() Daytime, gleaming cars I wear a blouse and am afraid Of the doors. Their voices rise up To the chapel roof Colliding with the tinted glass. ![]() Trigger Warning: Mention of Death I sent you a text the night that your dog passed away under cloudy skies of navy-gray it was the first thing I said to you since your birthday three months ago when the sun still shone over crystal snow ![]() Do not look at me. That is how I feel every time people look too close. No, I’m not ashamed of my face or physique any more than the average American, but there's an additional curse I am bound with. It is a lifelong medical condition people still believe is made up. I am transgender. ![]() The paper was filled with foreign squares and lines. I recognized it as Korean, my mother tongue. As I stared, the words squiggled into snakes, slithered out onto the floor and bit me on my heel. I jolted awake, smothered in sweat. It had been a few days since I had started taking classes in Korea, and I was in a jam. ![]() {TW: suicide] every s that spills from your tongue reminds me of every moment that slipped from our grasp those dwindling days under endless stars, not as bright as the void in ours Stop Stop Stop it echoes in my eyes, on trembling lips, ![]() Trigger Warning: Implications of eating disorders three thousand layers but I'm a naked body puffer coat turned gossamer thin as grimy fingers abrade baked skin ![]() Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault They sat in the pavilion by the rugby fields with eyes fixed on each other, yet glancing sporadically towards the window through which they could see the rain falling in thick, opaque sheets and hitting the ground where the rain pooled and the mud roiled. Thin boys, the lot of them, swaddled in enormous blue and maroon shirts and clenching body and jaw to avoid the semblance of trembling. ![]() It is August 24th, 2008. I am clad in a backwards tan cotton twill cap, a linen tank top, and a pair of striped green seersucker shorts. My quintessential summer time attire at home. My aunt is behind the camera. My mom and grandma are by the kitchen making dinner. My dad and uncles are watching the news on the TV in the living room. I can hear my younger uncle speaking in his usual deep and resonating voice that fills the room with its weight. ![]() Trigger warning: domestic violence, divorce i. the messenger you were the dove holding mountains together in the dead of winter with your pure feathers and a crown of thorns ![]() It’s okay when the world crashes down and the sky wanders beneath your feet falling as it’s okay to let others help rebuild, Reset ![]() It terrifies me how little you care what I think. The things I feel make people afraid, but when I look through them with a blank stare, they say that’s scary too. You speak words that sound nice but reek of lies. ![]() If I rewind the clock, this is what I’ll see. Your truck drawing in dust as it spins away from Purcellville, Virginia. My pursed lips and your toothy smile in front of the U-Haul, leaves defying gravity. Returning the bouquet of lilies to the cashier, who doesn’t ask why I’m dressed in black. ![]() 1 I am confronting an SAT mock test at eleven o’clock at night when my parents tell me to pack up necessities and leave the house immediately. In the last few days, I had read posts on neighborhood lockdowns every minute: restrictions on Covid in Beijing are tightening day by day, and the rumor of a citywide lockdown was spreading like wildfire. ![]() How many times can you recall being actively happy in the past two months? When I was a junior in high school, I discovered the concept of small joy. How it was the same as big joy. Though my memory’s played a game of telephone with this story over the years, it was something about an author sharing an orange with her husband. How it brought her the same joy as a trip to New York. ![]() Caleb doesn’t like walking with his parents. They speak too much about college and the future, he thinks, and he’s only in seventh grade. He gazes out his window: to the left, the movement of cars across a canyon, up, the sky is overcast, and soon it’ll rain. ![]() first note that your wings are too heavy to fly, birds learn this when their mother throws them by the ankles, their mother is praised for mercy their father never has to know their brother don't have time to notice a corpse whose veins runs the same blood, their wings are too light too light to carry the weight of love and loved, they shed and shed until |
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Unless otherwise noted, all pictures used are open-source images in the public domain. Archives
September 2023
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