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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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![]() Knots swell around pruned branches. Limbs died here once. If some branches live for bird nests, then perhaps these tumors also live. A nuthatch caching in a knar seems to think so. An oyster cannot flick off
the grain burning on his tongue. So he locks it within porcelain layers. It never leaves, but room for its contemplation fades. At the end of the day, the oyster has a pearl to boast. When I fell off my bike, I felt my heartbeat throb wet on the palm of my hand. Through the pain, I learned I have beautiful scarlet beads of blood. Through the scar, which bloomed in raised white petals, I learned I will, somehow, always heal Comments are closed.
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* = Editors' Choice work
Unless otherwise noted, all pictures used are open-source images in the public domain. Archives
September 2023
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