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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’m afraid of the beetle that f a l l s from the windowsill writhing spindly legs on its broken back on hardwood floors. I’m afraid
of responsibilities and EXPECTATIONS and college and overdue taxes that grow on kitchen counters. I’m afraid of porcelain dolls with lace sleeves and glassy eyes and lips that smile red. I’m afraid of losing feeling first in my fingertips, and then, my palms, but mostly emotionally. I’m afraid of the bundle of clothes on my chair that looks like a man as I lay swaddled in covers drawn up to my nose late at night. I’m afraid of little holes, lotus seeds. I’m afraid of the bursting oil on the pan that scalds my skin. I’m afraid of uncertainty and nothing being the meaning of everything. I’m afraid of confrontation, fake friends, becoming too close, betrayal. I’m afraid of swallowing fish bones that hide in fleshy white meat and scratch my throat, the same feeling I get sometimes, when I volunteer to speak. I’m afraid of people that don’t listen to the word “no” “no”. I’m afraid of not liking what I see in the mirror and wanting nothing more than to be someone else. I’m afraid of graphite pencils breaking paper skin. I’m afraid of children with snotty noses and chocolate cheeks and fidgeting fingers. I’m afraid of a bouncy rubber ball hitting me in the eye. I’m afraid of white men in ill fitting suits that argue and debate on TV, but a little more so, the white men that nod as they watch them. I’m afraid of the encroaching darkness that closes in once in a while, when my brain tells me to forget how to breathe and I lean over the bedpost heaving, eyes closed, heaving. I’m afraid of writing this poem, what the words might sound aloud, mean to other people. I’m afraid of being lonely, invisible, meaning nothing more than a speck of dust that dared once to breathe the air of the Earth and walk on two feet. I’m afraid of something I’m afraid to admit. Sometimes, I’m afraid of myself. Comments are closed.
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Unless otherwise noted, all pictures used are open-source images in the public domain. Archives
November 2023
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