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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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Is it wrong to spend my nights thinking of her, My love for her sun-kissed sepia skin makes me kinder to my own The drape of the silk saree from her hips keeps me attentive during pooja and prayer The glassy chimes of her bangles as she tucks hair behind my jhumka adorned ear, Perfumed with jasmine and sandalwood incense, aromas of home Today my love has painted my nails a dark shade of red,
I cannot help but assume this color is a symbol of our love Our love is born out of the constructs of devotion But it's our culture, our country, these people. Our people. Who believe love as intense as ours should only be spoken through whispers They who push us away the furthest, in their eyes I am a criminal A criminal, before I turn 16 Am I to believe in the conditional love of my country and culture Or the unconditional love I've found in her. 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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