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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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![]() What is there to lose, when you are behind bars even when innocence is all you feel, your soul ripping apart, your heart shattering to shards of glass, bleeding the nerves in your brain. You beg for forgiveness, wait for their answer, wait to see if they can mold the shattered
pieces of glass together, put your broken soul into one. But the answer is NO! No! No. What is there to lose, when you are different from the rest, the lightest of the brown yet separate from the pale-skinned People. Your parents work two jobs, maybe more, they receive pay less than anything you could ever wish for. You gaze at them, seeing them shower in over a million gold coins, the words wealthy, superior written in permanent ink all over. What is there to lose, When you stand proudly, Dress formally, like one of them and stride with pride, Placing your ballot, inside, Feeling confident they will accept it this time, Them proud, wealthy, superior People. But they simply count your vote As none, nothing, pathetic. What is there to lose, when others around you don’t dare to look at you with pride, treat you like a citizen, Count your vote, see your innocence, only see through you. The words written across your face in permanent ink: minority, poor, pathetic, just waiting to be seen as something more. Comments are closed.
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November 2023
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