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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 have become close friends with midnight, often holding hands with the clock as it strikes twelve, wondering if I can push back the time far enough so that dawn might never arrive. for Jamie (she/her)
you are diagnosed with lost, doppelgänger’s wanderlust curate an identity in language and code, polylingual coupons out of the sinking sandbed you call home but look at you: camera in hand, eyes shuttering, the truth wrapped in plasticised tears. this is dislocation as you know it, normalcy bleeding your heart’s chrysalis, a butterfly broken mid-escape ![]() i wish i could tell you about the myriad of clippings from my mind’s daily paper, but i’m scared that upon peeling back one too many layers of my cocoon, you’ll encounter the butterflies blundering blindly in my ribcage and the words that have dissipated halfway up my windpipe. ensconced in a darkness as suffocating as it is empty, i am alone like i always have been. ![]() i. the smell of cinnamon sifted throughout the corners of the house, filling the air with sweet desire and the guilty pleasure of gluttony. i was young; foolish and naive, though i make no claim or promise that i am no longer both. a child until i was old enough to cross the street to tell the neighbors to leave my brother alone. i used to coat my toast in cinnamon like the salty taste of a lost childhood coated on my mind. i don't like cinnamon anymore. ![]() Ten minutes on the balcony was always too short. Our colorful heads leaned against each other, mere naive creatures with poetry on our unwashed hands. Back inside, chairs were unbearable barriers so we pressed the metal legs together and whispered until we were the troublesome ones. |
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September 2023
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