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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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![]() Begonia petals shift across the garden, eloquent like cursive on the page. Spring’s sweet release. I ride the west wind. Air knows no bounds. Root -less. Like this body. I am told that is poetry. But I yearn for an anchor. A hand that fits mine. A trellis to home this vessel of loneliness. I reach
and once again I am bursting from earth wearing a crown of pappus. Queen of the garden. I don’t want a sublime domain or subjects, walnuts ready to fissure under my weight. If I pray hard enough, maybe the earth will give her blessing. I ask for roots. I ask for bones to hold myself upright. Begone, pliant spines of straw. Give me something to pray to. To pray for. Comments are closed.
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Unless otherwise noted, all pictures used are open-source images in the public domain. Archives
October 2023
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