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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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![]() In July, the pool overflows & the tree loses its limbs. the garden gathering a glut of dragonflies & freesias. floodwater staining the asphalt all black. With the summer light fading, we chase shooting stars in the last quarter of the highway. the sky burning shade of tongues running over teeth. the route winding every way south. Highway winds spin me ‘round in the passenger seat, but I am a marionette
strung by streetlights from home: this wind of running off mangles me into a refrigerator-wide knot. A straw is bitten and soaking in the styrofoam melting on the cupholder. my legs are sunburnt and peeling back fresh flesh. I smile in a gradient: eggshell to asylum white from the boy I chipped my teeth on. In the flash of dark, we can only rush to the other end: like your hand on my lower thigh; mine running races in a circle on the peach bone of my ankle, shadows convalescencing into us when you’re too tired to drive, staining our skin the perfect shade of night. Headlight glow swims over reflections of us on the dash. fingertip tornadoes chasing ripples down the center of your cup. and your eyes watch the road black and white: snow on the interstate and tar licking the other end of your cigarette. you say the smoking might kill you first, so I equalize this by hanging my head out the window, with an under the skirt view of the sky, undulating shades of blue: reminding me we’re actually spinning as we’re speeding in the interspatial & galactic sense, in the atomic, minute sense, so it makes sense for the sky to be choking this silent. for the stop sign to be so red. for you to smile at me so honestly i forget to look back at what I’m leaving behind. 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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