They say angry women are dangerous.
But before she raised her voice,
she was interrupted.
Before she walked away,
she was cornered.
Before she stopped caring,
she cared too much.
Anger was not her first language —
it was her last resort.
We keep telling women to be softer, quieter, sweeter —
but how do you soften a scream buried in your grandmother’s bones?
This anger is not just hers —
it is inherited.
Ancestral.
Honest.
And maybe, just maybe,
it’s sacred.
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