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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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![]() How often do I wonder what’s the hook of the song? Am I being tone deaf, or the picture is painted too stout Along the outskirts- very unsettling. Like when I draw parallels Between ‘see’ and ‘listen’, but so is with your song And this bottom shelf racked with cassettes, swathed in dust And rust cutting fine figures like your voice on summer afternoons. The toned notes you gather storms with,
And hold them for me – you sing, Of that I’m sure, but to whom is my question. That’s what I wonder – the hook of you and me, Of this song that bears pain like poetry I never read, but have seen. Delusions Like chromatic on diaphanous wings, I see. It’s summer again and there are dragon flies everywhere. 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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