The urge.
The itch.
Scratching layer after layer.
I’m angry and totally sick of it.
Punching the ball of rage.
Blunt, bruised and blackened.
Through healing I’m bleeding.
I cry oceans from grief.
So I can swim my way to freedom.
And one day be weightless.
No urge, no itch.
Featherlight and fly.
Living my life.
Children without…
“Some children grow up to be adults with no story to tell. They’re not owning a story. They only relive and rewrite their parents story. That is the most sad part about generational curses. Children without authentic developed identities.”
M.P.Yasmine
Hatred Heritage
“I heard my mom saying she never liked me when I asked my oldest sister why she doesn’t want to meet me.”