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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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![]() if time is queer and life is a journey, if a hill is an obstacle and oceans make waves, if the tip of my nose turns red in the cold, a Garden is still a Garden. She takes care of Her Garden. with herbs and greenery;
chives have never smelled so good, in Her Garden, in the kitchen; garnishing my dinner. vining cucumbers wrap around dowels; tomatoes bloom the same way roses do, red and round and beautiful, and they make their way back from Her harvest. nothing grows in the winter. the sun goes up and the sun comes down and it's still winter; permafrost on the soil and dying plants-- do plants die? and it's still winter; it's still winter. someone else comes to revive. not herbs, not vegetables, but flowers. because the blood leaves from the tip of my nose but a Garden is a Garden. Comments are closed.
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Unless otherwise noted, all pictures used are open-source images in the public domain. Archives
November 2023
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