My home is made out of secrets.
Taboos. Tied tongues.
I do not know my mother's story,
I could only grasp so much from her eyes alone.
How can there be no secrets when your grandmothers force bills and coins into your hands the moment they see your mouth?
As if to bribe you, to buy your silence, to avoid speaking of their pains.
YOU ARE READING
Purple blush
Poetry''Everything you did to me, I remember. Mama, I made it out of your home alive, raised by the voices in my head. '' -Warsan Shire, Extreme girlhood
