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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 think they are conspicuous When they tell me the quiet will bring calm I think they are conspicuous When they watch the rain streak down my Window panes I mourn the
Habitual pain I cannot feel the raindrops I cannot feel myself I write a eulogy for my sorrow I think they are conspicuous As they watch me recite Nothing But a lull I cannot feel the quiet I do not miss the calm I mourn my calamity Comments are closed.
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September 2023
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