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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 love the structured, hardened beat of line. Uncertain never can affect, infect. Unlike this swirl, tornado, vortex—mine The part of me that tumbles, incorrect. I stand outside the wind, clinging to rock.
My hands begin to slip—it pulls me in. As if another being. Can't it talk? No, only hurt and pain and fight and win. If thoughts control emotions, why can’t I? I cannot even think—what’s it to me This monster that can never seem to die —just hiding underneath—will never flee. And so I stabbed my hand to stop my thoughts, Both tied and stretched in complicated knots. Comments are closed.
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May 2023
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