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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 traced my fingers against the cheap beads of tightly bound trinkets as it scarred my skin. Mama loves jewelry So I breathed smoke
while she broke my wings to make ornaments. I held "thamboolam" while it glued to my hand showing me glimpses of dreaded forever. Papa wants me to be a good girl So, I kneeled on glass shards and looked pretty. I scooched on the floor away from all while I bleed. I wrote my last poem with plasma. Didi says I should be a good wife So I ripped up the scruffy unfinished pages of Austen to clean filthy shelves. At last, I swallowed my pen to be a good, little girl. Comments are closed.
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September 2023
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