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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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![]() [TW: implied domestic abuse and alcoholism] My fear is clammy palms tugging the bedsheet trembling fingers hitting the light switch hysterical breaths piercing the silence My anger is hate in my cold gaze tightness in my drawn shoulders fire in my empty chest My grief is
the last breath of my mother the turned back of my father the bitter end of my youth My joy is the most unfamiliar When I’m sprawled out in the cold, gritty mud, blood pooling in my mouth, exhaustion hardening in my stomach, there is no place for joy When I learn to keep my hands up in fists of warning rather than shakes of greeting, there is no other instinct besides fight now, ask questions later When my face is a kaleidoscope of mottled purples, blues, and greens, and the stench of liquor overpowers the tang of drying blood, there is no one left to hold my bruised knuckles in their hands, curl my broken body in their arms, and be my safe, fleeting joy until the sun peeks through the cracks in the crumbling walls 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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