tiny hands
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Tiny hands know only that her arms are home, never seeing the battles she fought just to keep showing up.
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A mother carries wounds her children cannot see while still becoming the safest place their tiny hands know.
A poetry library for the things that bruise us, the things that bloom anyway, and everything we become in between.
Tiny hands know only that her arms are home, never seeing the battles she fought just to keep showing up.
A mother carries wounds her children cannot see while still becoming the safest place their tiny hands know.