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twinkling silver moon earrings, my planet fitness membership, three advil tablets, a pink and orange velvet dress (to twirl in), a purple ribbon from Philly, an expired target gift card, my octopus blanket, a book about womxn, old spice
Colorful fire crackling On dry Michigan wood Campfire smell filling my nose Arms wrap around me Holding me tight I hear little voices Singing songs of rolling hills And the taps on shoulders
Dear Camp Berachah, Words cannot describe how much you’ve done for me.
When you ask “How was camp this year?” my mind freezes. 
Home is a small place that somehow still has room for everyone. Home is filled with strangers. Definition: Family you've yet to come to know. 
Abandonment hunger pain love acceptance attention childishness trust contentedness hope   Struggle of saying goodbye Not able to protect them It is our privilege to bless
it boggles my mind how they could seem so inviting loving yet the care is so completely pretend they can't even love me so much that they make me even happy they...
The fragrant zest of pine assaults my nose as I exit the dingy white van. Now, at last, I know where I am again, the gleaming lake and lawless country road my limits,
When I think of orientation I dont immediately think education when we think of excitement Camp crimson is synonymous we are sooner born sooner bred
As if their concentration camps weren't enough, Now they have to shove big guns in our faces. They do not care if we cry, They do not care if we die. All they care about is extinguishing our religion and race.
Why do I feel so worthless? I am lost in the high seas of people I have known for years. Yet, I am found in a group of complete strangers.
It’s not easy, It’s not simple, It’s sometimes a challenge, And sometimes a ball. It changes day by day, And week by week.  Amazing one day, Unbearable the next. But I wouldn’t trade,
Silent elfin streams drift through and between small hills covered in dead coastal redwood leaves, soft and plush, my toes slide between little needles and soil made of decomposed forest.  
Two minutes of silence, Five hundred beating hearts; Five hundred minds are spinning, Trying to connect the dots. Mountains still tower over us, And trees sparkle in the breeze.
She longs for the summer, For days of sunshine and of thunder. Back to the place where happiness Isn't a chore And sadness is never an option, Not until "goodbye."
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