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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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![]() [Content warning: racial violence] Hanging abandon, testament of life lolling tongues quirking mouths fluttering eyelids, look away we don’t see colors. The stench of summer forces air into branches, rustling leaves, up from what remains. Look towards it. Look up. Ropes drift
guns ring the world spins on, roots stain red, people look away, and the crimson infuses the crop of our tree. When we pluck the stems off our low hanging fruit, the souls come with, spirits collect and scatter to the wind like a strange poplar seed. Comments are closed.
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May 2023
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