Write from the shoulders. The throat. The hands.
Shoulders that ache from living such a life
They slump in reluctance to continue onward
Throat choking down the words as they bubble up
It wants to scream, but fears being heard
Hands callused, scarred, nails bitten to fragments
They pray no one sees the intention behind their work
tender porch
May 1
May 1, 2026 at 11:45 AM UTC