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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 the ripeness of the morning You asked, what are we but purple skies, bruised and hidden behind tasteless wine? I did not answer you then, being swayed by the clashing air, bitter seeds and peels crushed beneath my tongue, my mind already tasting regret Now, in the decaying eve, I wish I told you,
maybe secretly we are glittering grapes, lucky like amethyst, filled to spilling point of faith and sun-warmed sugar I want to whisper to you, sun gently rising maybe secretly we are royal purple, not a cheap aubergine, crystals polished into fine silver dust, entrancing moonlight into our embraces, in the ripeness of the morning 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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