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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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![]() jasmine tucked behind your right ear, kohl carved under your eyes, your whisper is song; & & & if your mouth is a harmonica, let me make music, thunder as we bathe in moonlight, under the ocean of purplish stars who will gaze at us, cheeks rouged ![]() the boat I made did not take all night but I folded and taped as I licked my paper cuts my eyes propped open with pins and when it floated in the pond my stomach capsized upon itself watching it float idly along behind the others ![]() “We should probably go inside,” Elle says. “It’s dangerous here, you know.” The two other girls don’t listen. They stand with their backs to the house, watching the sky curdle into black above. A sheet of dust covers the road, clothing the air in its smell. The street lights have gone out. Inside the house, the TV has turned to static, the screen blinking to life only in intervals; any minute now and it’ll be dead. ![]() This is a letter for the broken soldier, The shattered man who’s lost his mooring post, He walks with heavy steps among company who fractured with him, Nurses wounds that go deeper than skin, deeper than flesh, |
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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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