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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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my thoughts are a jumbled mess tonight as every night and they crisscross like tangled jump ropes within the confines of my mind. i lie on the floor staring up at the ceiling uncaring as the light is burned into my retinas. My hands dance without my body. They are composing a symphony, while I stare at the dead flies decomposing on my windowsill. The eulogy enshrined in my memory of tomorrow is disembodied, as clinical as biology. When we die we are placed in a box. Mine better be beautiful, like heaven, because I hate being a corpse. I hate that my stubborn humanity will keep me from the earth. |
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March 2024
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