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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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![]() in the hollow cradle of night i sit, splintering on the living room floor and pick apart my flesh with my teeth begging you to glance my way i will tear out my heart if need be
paint myself in rose and violet to be just like how you envisioned in the depths of a hazy ultrasound the last time you held me like a child did you know it was a distress call? that the years had slithered up too fast and plunged me in, face first, ice cold maybe i should drench my insides burn away all the residue i'll teach myself to be loved again the way that's meant for your little girl but when i am finally in your grasp i am a wretched thing, a distant embrace you trace your fingers over the breakage in my sun-peeled, once-porcelain skin thinking if you had the chance you'd try to press my broken pieces into journal pages mend the ruptures in my body with yours until all that is left is my own skin and bones 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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