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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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![]() The only thing that felt real before her foot touched the pool Was the dead leaf that licked its own reflection. The wind was startled And she could see it from the way it brushed her hair. Spinning, it may get whisked away
Into the air, upon another soil Far from its roots, buried, And given rest, Until the sand and earthworms accept it, Seeing life and substance coexist And they all become a part of each other As dew binds them. And so little beautiful things Tender to imbuements, Speckles of wonder and flickers of hope. 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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