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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 wonder why girls have to be broken to be beautiful and why boys wait to be fixed by hands that can barely hold their own weight he calls me at night and i can hear the candied, the crushed, the syrup dripping from his lips slurred words that shouldn’t feel this soft but they do, and there will be time to repent when the sun comes up tell me a story
it’s been so long that i am almost surprised when i reach into myself and the words are still there, overripe and coated in dust it feels like a tender bruise, like an old friend lighting up your phone and you press and it pushes, as hope spreads through your arm like a disease tell me anything his sound pulses against my hand and i cave. i talk about how love is an illness how it is the only worthwhile thing for people like us and yet it burns, coming back every time he knows better than this and i have never felt more alone in my life as his breath slows to sleep on the other end. Comments are closed.
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September 2023
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