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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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![]() He stands before me So close—yet so far He stands just as still as I, Same gaze, same expression Silently mocking me To him, I am empty An ornate porcelain vase In the far corner of a dim attic Rarely entered, rarely seen
The vase has stood, silently, Far longer than anyone remembers But cracks have begun to appear— Can a facade be forever maintained? A bitter smile. He knows. There is a void inside Always consuming, chipping away at its vessel I’ve fed it distractions, work, and pride-- He chuckles. It’s been futile. A being made up of shadows Wandering in limbo, The line between reality and nothingness Simply because he knows not What awaits on the other side-- Can this routine be forever maintained? A bitter smile. He knows. I know. Yet, my words rust, never heard My thoughts mix with the depths of the night The view from the top floor is rather beautiful, He says. While the others may care-- Do you? My voice resounds through the night sky As he shatters into a million pieces The glass twirls and spins beautifully in the moonlight He is still there, reflected in each glistening shard But he has conceded. Now I will make the most of it— The hand that life dealt us Comments are closed.
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Unless otherwise noted, all pictures used are open-source images in the public domain. Archives
May 2023
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