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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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Burst into tears, vomit out my world, in words,
In fanciful vocabularies that Remember Hemingway. I pray from my fingertips, The sun also rises (because my handwriting is fingerprints) I dress them up, like a girl would do with their barbies, hoping it wears jeans instead of a skirt. It requires time, but I have no patience. I let it out naked, Metaphors race on paper like furious horses I never used to play with barbies, I hated disney princesses; Maybe that’s why the polishing, cleaning, and scraping of poems are the hardest for me. I don’t know how to dress them up, to what extent I’m allowed to touch —perhaps frills would be too much. 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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