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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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![]() i'm drinking orange juice with a hint of white wine* while skipping class because i hate everything. i'm crying while reading fairytales about communism and i'm running even though it's excruciating. then (i'm not sure when, but 2020) it was the first time i was home alone since the pandemic started and the first time i drank beer of my own accord. i blasted my music and sat on the floor in the dark. so what's new? then (i'm four i think)
all i can smell is his cologne and dirty laundry and all i can see is the pile of stuffed animals and none of this future. he's playing his music and i know the words. it's the first time i feel real. now (somewhere around 2022, but that's beyond me) i don't know what's real and what's a lie. music can't save me anymore and i'm resorting to people who i don't know and things i don't need. reality is faltering but i guess i decided this morning that i'm okay with that. then (the depths of despair) was i okay with it? we'll never know but i surely didn't accept it yet. that was a time where i lost track of myself and all that could keep me grounded was the devil. they say i'm religious, but i'm not sure about that anymore; either because of the illegality or the fact that false pretenses are my purview, no longer god. i don't believe in god or magic. but i believe in fate. and us. he must be real, right? but i can let it slide if we're the only things (creatures) that are. now (the future) i think i'm real. but i also think nothing is. so i keep drinking my orange juice* and singing my stories until i can find the true art of being real. *or maybe it's white wine with a hint of orange juice Comments are closed.
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* = Editors' Choice work
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October 2023
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