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“His violence birthed inside my chest, clasping me and hanging like a rock on my neck, engraving a lifetime of a burning scar, how would it not? If you grow up in a house witnessing that your father’s hands have grabbed your mother’s throat more than her waist.” — Miramoon
His violence birthed inside my chest, clasping me and
hanging like a rock on my neck, engraving a lifetime of a burning
scar, how would it not? If you grow up in a house witnessing that
your father’s hands have grabbed your mother’s throat more than
her waist.