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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 mold my thumb into the bruises on my knees; a royal-purple ache, euphoric. i exist to be sentenced, a mannequin pruned, observe: my eyes could be gouged-grotesque, my skull dizzy & broken and the blood would garnish my Corpse-- we learn our imperfections, too soon my finger traces harsh the stripes of my hips; taut & taught. please, slough the flesh off my bones where it weighs me down; i want to soar, knees-knocking & hair-whipped. finger, meet throat: salmon-pink & fleshy fulfillment. if only the Body could be emptied forever-- i bare my teeth for myself, flash-white in
erratic reflection, i relish the curve of my belly when i breathe. concave soul no longer, my limbs rest easy & unclasped. tell me this Body could be the last-- Comments are closed.
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September 2023
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