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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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![]() Prayer pools like drool on my pillow, like fresh rain gone quiet. Summer’s heat, dusty feet, sweating sunset frog song, swallowing my own suppositions until I become pregnant with myself. I took a plunge at midnight. I tossed my body into the sea, and I watched the black water pour into my drought punctured soul. I sincerely believe passion keeps us sane. Lying dead in a bathtub, wet washcloth over my mouth, I wanted to see how long I could endure torture. We are beautiful because we are temporary, oppressed and pressed by mortality. But I was not really dead, just struggling to breathe, to believe. Comments are closed.
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November 2023
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