The hardest lesson wasn't learning that monsters exist. It was learning they don't all wear the same face. Some arrive after you've already escaped the first one, promising they'll never hurt you the same way. They're right. They find new ways.
A poetry library for the things that bruise us, the things that bloom anyway, and everything we become in between.
The hardest lesson wasn't learning that monsters exist. It was learning they don't all wear the same face. Some arrive after you've already escaped the first one, promising they'll never hurt you the same way. They're right. They find new ways.
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