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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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![]() When night goes, they tell themselves: they won't lose darkness in their finite light, the advancements they abandon, the land they will not walk. They will cower from the backbones of angels. They will neglect that noise is always
agitation, or that the extremes and ignorances of inflictions are always erroneous. Certainly the night is theirs. After they ignore us, there is no way they bear us. There is no way they yield. They deny the wasteland made whole, complexly completed by the predecessors of a non-ecumene and neverness where a plump white boy can ascend to lords or die to multiple fathers, and will doubt the decaying citizen, then lose himself, quieting for hordes. And know, they are close to dullness, close to demise, and that means they are giving up, destroying divisions that are flawed. They are giving up, destroying divisions made to demolish the individual, to betray all cultures, colors, characters and conditions of woman. Before then, they lower their shut eyes to those laying beyond them and those laying after them. They open the bridges, not because they know to put their past behind them, but because their likeness is the only thing they know. Comments are closed.
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May 2023
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