Skatepark, a poem

Skatepark


My past is the sore on the inside of my lip

that I slick my tongue along,

that when I’m least ready

I gnaw on,

like a fresh stick of chewing gum,

never really gone.


Deeeep from the archives...I wrote this poem on 2/11/2021 and it's one of my favorites. The photos are from even deeper in the archives (November 2016 to be exact). It's late and I found my college hard drive with all of my old writing. It's healthy to cringe at yourself! More archival writing and photography to come.


Xo, Rebs

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the origin story of "scream of consciousness"