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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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![]() [Content warning: allusions to sexual assault] and by july, i grew tired of beautiful boys. hearing their delicate sonnets and toying with their maple hair. so it was no surprise when i caught myself grinning at the girl who dove into lake erie, beaming as i pulled the soaked sweater over the top of her head, and laughing when i cut my finger wringing it. and her frigid hands crept over my own, our eyes
meeting for that burning second, twin pyres and wildfires put out when the space slipped and i shoved her into the water. how swimming flushed her eyes red like she had been weeping, so i told her something too honest about myself, and she told me about a boy who haunted her. oh, i said (i’m so sorry) and reached out to her. but she hid under her skin, under the weight of the night, trembling like a wet dog. and we left the summer like a thick heat, hands brushing against each other but never holding. and by august, her sweater dried and i took it off the dock and slipped it over my skin. i cradled me in her arms, trying to piece together how she could pierce through the water in the arms of a boy. screaming his name like it hadn't sunk in. and i never understood how her penchant for agony drew her away from the lakes and glass. how water eased his lawlessness, yet knew to erase me. Comments are closed.
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October 2023
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