I dig the history of my blood,
and I see a teen with half head
and a hand.
A man rises
in search of house,
and she hides and hides
into the corner.
Mamma pushes her,
and granny with a kitchen knife
over herself.
The poor silence
is trapped in the midst.
Fathima Sanna
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Agonizing
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Thank you for following my blog.
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so good.I have a similar story like this in my ancestry of “no say” lives. thank you for typing this. I wish for you more such creations to empower and heal.
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Thank you 💕
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