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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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![]() My limbs feel cold, soggy, like half- raw oats. Grumbles should claw from my stomach, tugging at shirt and skin, but there’s only silence. Her body bled into the ground, I’m told, crumbling like run-over turtle shells. They tell me to fill
the gaps in my ribs with sustenance but I know that won’t bulge my shriveled, braided insides. Her skin faded into transparency, paling until nothing was there. Piles of food now only look like stripped guts, pulled bones from lifeless bodies. The metal came from nowhere, breaking her hip before she could sigh. Should it have been me, I don’t know, but I tell myself so anyway. I want to scream until I don’t feel cold, soggy. I want to scream until I think I’m hungry. Comments are closed.
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May 2023
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