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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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![]() The truth is, If I could, I’d ask Atlas for his weight So that I could finally be free of mine. I would carry the weight of the sky on my back With the cry of the hawk, and the wisp of the dream, And I would be able to nod and wave, And live like the passing breeze. What is the weight of the sky
To the world, This deep earth, The rivers And bottomless trenches I pull and drag with me ? What is the weight of This diminishing air When I drown in the Rivers of blood Dug by those before me ? Decay in my consciousness of myself, And the past I carry, And the unfortunate truth That I exist, and this is hereditary. I am the hook in the corner of the butchers eye Carrying the carcass that is a little too alive And I soldier that guilt alone, And drag myself across the floor. I carry the scars of my breath on my back, Feathered wings, once intact, Now home to the hooks of deception, Dragging with it, the burden of existence. So Atlas, I beg Give me your weight for awhile I am more than content to bear the simplicity of just a sky Where there are no nooks for cracked mirrors to hide. Cracks, For I’ll never bear myself, alone. But myself and this weight. And with every glance I take, It fractures a thousand times And so I yearn to throw myself away. At your feet, I‘ll carry any load, Just something I cannot blame To be my own. Comments are closed.
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Unless otherwise noted, all pictures used are open-source images in the public domain. Archives
May 2023
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