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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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![]() orange skin between my teeth, the smoke-sweet flavor still remains; on my shirt are orange stains, the table holds a citrus wreath: drops of juice wet underneath while I sit with a rotting brain. citrus pills and orange pain,
the floor will sag and droop beneath words I know the answers to. solemn silence carries ease, contemplating perfect clouds, orange silence turns to blue. light will crawl out through the trees; my ears have no more need for sounds. 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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