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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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![]() [Content warning: self-harm] I press my fingers to the bruises On my elbows- the ones I got From running into walls and tables Trying to escape my own clumsiness They fade slowly-
Black, purple, green, yellow And leave behind marks That nothing can erase. I press deeper and harder Till the sting of right now makes The invisible whispers of past pain Go away. I wish I could cut open the bruises And pry out the soiled flesh Bubbling underneath my paper skin With my bare hands. I wonder if I’d bleed And if it would hurt When the million little drops Glided down my arms and ran to the floor I’d do anything to give the bruises back I never wanted them- They fade- Black, purple, green, yellow But they never go away. Comments are closed.
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September 2023
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