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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 can’t speak to you in the way I used to Because I don’t know how the words Should come out and in my head they Sound perfect even poetic but they dry on my Tongue harsh fragments that grit against My teeth and peel back my dry lips. My mother taught me a superstition once,
That when your lips split down the middle dry And your mouth tastes like blood and You wake up with your cheeks aching And your jaw clenched from fighting Against the medicinal lacquer that follows Vague and incomprehensible nightmares, That really the nightmares have surrendered To a darker, more dangerous force, claws out, Hell bent on reaping destruction inside your head. So what I’m really fighting is some secret, Some truth turned angry and irascible creature Because at the end of the day a human lies to Hide something and that creature I’m Hiding is going to break free so I know that I have to tell you but through my split lip I can’t. Comments are closed.
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Unless otherwise noted, all pictures used are open-source images in the public domain. Archives
September 2023
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