|
a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
|
|
a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
|
![]() The black bus paused, Drifted at our back, As we walked home from school. The smooched tire On the tarred road -- Set our feet on the track, Towards the bush path. Screech mixed with stamps,
Fixed at the back of our view; Weaved our heart with fear, As their dance wooed our ears. Minutes of racing in the wood, Our skin turned a stream, Our nostrils sunk in breathing As the rain of bangs reigned on us. So sad, it touched Ralph, The only friend I have. A bang forayed his chest, And zapped him like a pest. Comments are closed.
|
Categories
All
* = Editors' Choice work
Unless otherwise noted, all pictures used are open-source images in the public domain. Archives
September 2023
|