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a space for youth writing & mental health discussion
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 you never were fond of cheap musicians
or coffee shop interludes rather you had divine taste like honeyed ambrosia percolating down the back of your throat golden purity tricolating through your veins midas would’ve envied your brilliance  The funny thing about living is that it’s both a blessing and a curse. There are beautiful sunsets and fresh fruits, but beauty is only a skin-deep game. There’s meeting souls and learning about something more than just yourself and the soil meant to be stood on. There’s the rain-kissed clothes, bags, and flowers emitting the finest of petrichor, and then there’s the raining of blood. There’s pain behind piety and sin behind demure. There are wings to fly, but bullets to shoot it down and hands to clip it too tight.
 I. manic pixie dream girl:
has hair that’s fried just enough to still be polite. a porcine snort and a delicate twirl. sparkles in his eyes, the halo so bright it creates a stubborn ring of light in his irises that activates when she appears, like mist, or like the mud that sprays on his face when a car rushes by in the city. shines in his city, his world of grim sadness and childhood trauma and daddy issues.  inside her body stayed a country
that’s not even her country. inside her amputated leg laid a country that even when the leg a bleeding ghost already, the country doesn’t leave but plead red-iced loyalty. inside her families stayed a country that refused to realize its encampment in their lineages. Ma spoons her some medicine she must take daily whenever Death kindly alights from his seat.  [content warning: imagery of guns]
why call it a trigger like i contain explosions maybe a veteran would but i’m only a student  I ran from you when first we met.
I trembled, fearing you would spring at me. I hid behind my dad while tears befogged my eyes. I saw you then with me, the prey, and you, the crouching wolf.  [content warning: self harm]
time immemorial was my last dream there is no place for dreams in a body devoid of imagination in a soul that is deviant with usurped fallacies and broken delusion rather my nights are empty only to be succeeded by hollower days the sun that rises and falls i can at least count on that  [content warning: death, eating disorders]
what happened to me? i was a rosy-cheeked girl with a figure as thin as the tooth of a fine comb a vehicle for hatred and jealousy but also love and adoration how did i end up like this at the peak of my youth dead and inflated on the kitchen floor?  What is there to lose,
when you are behind bars even when innocence is all you feel, your soul ripping apart, your heart shattering to shards of glass, bleeding the nerves in your brain. You beg for forgiveness, wait for their answer,  your smile
no longer a package deal with the twinkle in your eyes. your voice no longer a mood lifter with that magical spark. our calls lack the flashing green light atop the screen. our conversations lack the revitalising comfort of your voice. our keeping-in-touch withering into the loudest silence.  a halmoni's recipe
one with withered paper scribbled calligraphy rustic annotations a dilapidated polaroid i see as an ember of burning reels of film boyish and coyish boy flitters like an amorphous shadow that is half as dark because the light that shines is only half as radiant  [content warning: sexual abuse]
I look down at my phone and I freeze. My legs still hurt from last night. My stomach drops, but I know what I have to do. “Can I go to the bathroom?” I ask as my leg bounces. “It’s an emergency.” The teacher nods, and I shoot up, shuffling towards the door. He’ll get angry and hurt me if I don’t meet him.  [content warning: self harm]
Growing up, my parents said that I’d be the next Michelangelo. Vivid colors dancing on the pages of my sketchbook.  [content warning: death, alcohol]
What do you think it felt like, to die all alone on that snowy road? Was he scared? Did he know what was coming when the cars collided? I think the oblivion of it all would be preferable. I hope he wasn’t frightened; I hope he was calm. Alcohol will do that to a man. I don’t want to know what Grandma thought. She was only forty-three, only two living boys at home after losing two more. Four births to only bring home two of your babies will rob anyone of their kindness. At least Momma reminded me of that anytime Grandma was spiteful towards her. At least Momma got to take home all four of her babies.  [content warning: blood, implied suicide]
please, keep talking. i unfold the future, spoon blades of light to dry lips sword-swallow joy, choking on the bones of your hollow smile. heart, calcified & quiet, we’ll live forever, the ocean in our palms. through moonlight, reflecting the sea salt streams on our faces on the water’s edge sour taste of past tense  The ocean breathes, her surface rising and falling with rhythmic ease
The shore is order and chaos, the land and ocean meeting one another as they please The ocean as waves of blue-light move over unmeasured horizons Seashells bloom upon the shore in the sweetest of caramel curls and twirls.  Rot away the ache in your chest,
Let it crumble to dirt. There are gardens to fertilise, Plants yet to grow. Devour the ice in your veins, Churn it around until it melts. The water it leaves will dribble down your chin, Will soak the collar of your shirt.  I cannot speak them.
The words come out a whisper, dying on my tongue before they have a chance to hit their target. Am I the arrow? Am I the bow? Or am I the target? (that society can’t seem to hit in the center, no matter how much it wishes to).  You were born
Under silver rings and frigid white. You were born Against a wall With quiet eyes Screwed in like lightbulbs. Are you hungry, A deep aching pull In between sinew and snapped bone?  Orpheus must've known
The Eurydice wasn't going to make it out. He must've known Through the gods, Or his rotten luck, Or plain common sense That she wasn't leaving with him. Better to get it over with And see her one last time Than to be disappointedly alone Under the glaring sun.  Floating away with only papers left behind--
a blip in the universe’s pools, one last burst of fired energy channeled by the stars upon departure is to recreate our birth. Each of the atoms that form the body I’m zipped into vibrates with the potential to create and execute something amazing, the same potential all atoms buzz around with,  The grass is soft to sit on and the Japanese Maple tree in my front yard is providing shade to calm me. There is no traffic, and the clouds block the sun in such a perfect way that I think to myself: this would be the perfect place to die. The occasional bird seems to agree with me.
I am not insane, I promise. I took my medication this morning. The little pink one was for the ADHD (it also helps a little with the anxiety) and the little off-white one with the pretty stripes was for the depression.  we spent an eternity loving each other
through the eyes of others, our hands clasped only in our minds as we basked in the warmth of lingering touches. keeping our secrets close to our hearts, our hidden truths served as ivory shackles holding us back from taking the leap and bidding farewell to familiarity.  Here I stand, dying, while surrounded by so much life.
Leaves rustle, birds cry, rain falls, and I am suffocating in it all. It is too much. I am alive.  Tell me,
O wildflower, what is wrong? What beguiles you, what allures your covetous heart? Why do you seek the burden of beauty— is it not enough, the petals you have? |
