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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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![]() When I die, I will be dust caught in the burning mass of engines or dances with skin matter in fading daylight I will be cliche autumn leaves clumping in brown mass and ghosts inheriting polaroids because there’s always a ghost
in the film and I will be stained books with one line pencilled for a friend or a lover I will be pigment scars in a palette I will be one half of a dropped earring like breaking twins or a trapped wing in a window frame she is nature’s lost property I will be making something, something of nothing pearl tears at a funeral faint suckling of yew trees paws glazed with dirt I will be yapping at orange skies and half chewed grass I will be laced cutlery ceiling steam stains I will be tangible just in reach out of sight keep in mind I will be maybe next time and see you later I will be looking forward suckling tossed air I will be hands hovering over a laptop keyboard, waiting to start 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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