tell your story
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Oh God, the one who hears the small and voiceless, the one who spins the wind into hymns— do you see the bruises pressed into their silence? Do you touch the aching marrow of those who could not save themselves? The children cry in muffled tones, their voices swallowed whole by shadows. Their hands, once…
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My story didn’t begin with strength. It began with silence. I was a child who learned too early that adults can twist love into a weapon. I carried that secret like poison in my body. And when I grew older, I turned the knife inward. In my teens and twenties, I lived like someone already…
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Somewhere along the road, we were told that to matter, we had to harden. That softness was weakness. That to succeed, we had to compete like men, speak like men, perform like men. And in many ways, the world rewarded us when we did. But something sacred was lost. Womanhood is not a costume to…
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If this were a story, it would start in the middle—because that’s how these things go, right? Not at the bright, screaming beginning, where a girl is born into a house that is more war zone than home. Not at the end, where she stands, whole and breathing, on the other side of it all.…
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My mother is the kind of woman hell fears. She does not walk through life unnoticed—she is a force, a fire, a relentless fighter for what is right. She stands for the vulnerable, speaks for the silenced, and loves without limits. Darkness does not touch her without consequence. She carries wounds this world cannot see,…
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Oh God, the one who hears the small and voiceless, the one who spins the wind into hymns— do you see the bruises pressed into their silence? Do you touch the aching marrow of those who could not save themselves? The children cry in muffled tones, their voices swallowed whole by shadows. Their hands, once…
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Here, in the gauze of denial, a soul softens, losing its edges, its bite, its clarity. Evil sits across the room, legs crossed, whispering sweetly—seduction in its tone. It calls itself necessity, then compromise, then, finally, your closest friend. Oh, but what becomes of the spine when it bends too often? When the first “no”…
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Do you have a place where you can speak the unspeakable? I ask because there are chambers inside all of us, dark, secret vaults where we lock the memories that cut too deeply to touch. Where do you take your battles, the near-unendurable heaviness of a mind turned against itself? Do you wander through the…
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Isn’t life lived mostly in the meadows? Sometimes we hit high peaks in the mountains, sometimes we’re in a blue valley, but most of the time life is lived on an even keel for me now. It’s hard to be ordinary, isn’t it? It’s hard to live in constant pain and it’s hard to live…
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Here’s the link: https://open.spotify.com/show/0S82kxLv4B2y9gegCVslC0.