Walking in with so much joy, set my backpack down in the colorful room that is appealing to your eyes. They taught me how to sit criss cross but never taught kids how to treat all kids the same. Different kids, me the definition of different i did not ask to be this color, wear something over my head and to believe what i believe in. Unhappy with the 8 year old i was, i was lost but over the years i learned. As I walk through the garden with the sewage smell that I seemed to find relaxing, the blending color of flowers, hearing the butterflies wings flapping, the sweet apples growing from the apple tree, the touch of the moist and warm soil brought me more happiness then the playgrounds. 8 year old me confused, happy, sad, angry, worried, and lost. The garden, the magical garden that cured sadness and brought happiness. My happy place.

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Youth Voices is an open publishing platform for youth. The site is organized by teachers with support from the National Writing Project. Opinions expressed by writers are their own.

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