@notawli

Growing Up on My Street I was about four when I learned that words could hurt me more than sticks or stones — not because of what I said, but because of who heard it. It was an ordinary day on our street. I was just a kid, playing, repeating bad words I didn’t even understand. I didn’t know my mom was close enough to hear. She was. The next moments hit fast — literally. She grabbed me, pinched my ear so hard I thought it would tear, and dragged me to the house. Straight into…