Different Shades of Grief
I was watching THAPPAD. I thought about the people who have hit me. In plural.
I was watching THAPPAD. I thought about the people who have hit me. In plural.
It’s precarious because what can balance atop slime for very long?
I’m reclaiming the ability to ask for help.
It was respite from the morning’s fight, a common occurrence in the horror story I lived in. It didn’t feel right.
I read ‘When I Hit You’ by Meena Kandasamy and it brought me back to an episode in my relationship with music.
I had a chance to get this off my chest last year. I’m so grateful for the stage giving me a chance to voice things that had been eating away my insides for too long. I’ve been silenced by well-meaning friends and others who are just inconvenienced by anything other…