Reblogged
Gaza does not die... but it bleeds ๐๐
Unbearable pain... and a wound that won't heal ๐ข
I am Musab Ahmad Hamouda, born in 1996, a husband and father of three children.
We used to live a simple, safe lifeโuntil the bombing came and stole everything from us.
Our home is gone... reduced to rubble and scattered memories. ๐๏ธ๐
I was injured in my shoulder, underwent surgery, and still need another operation just to be able to move my arm again. ๐ฉผ
But the real pain lives in my little daughter Lamaโs hand.
Her tiny hand couldnโt withstand the brutality of the bombing.
They had to implant a metal plate in it, and we are still struggling to afford her treatment.
Watching her in pain... broke my heart before it broke my body. ๐ญ
Saving Musabโs Family from War
I would make it a broomstick method w him. Petting his weird ass hair like a mane. Trying to find the spot where the neck meets the head. That's where the broomstick goes. I stand on both ends. I tell him it's gonna feel great. Tremendous. I tell him nobody does chiropractic adjustments like me.
Then I tell JD to pull his feet.
Reblogged
๐ธ From One Motherโs Heart โ Please Read ๐ธ
My name is Saja. Iโm a wife, a mother, and a woman who once believed her story would be simple. I thought my days would be filled with watching my daughter grow โ from her first smile to her first steps โ surrounded by the small joys of everyday life.
But life had other plans.
War has returned to our home. Again. And once again, we find ourselves living under skies that never seem to rest.
There was a moment โ a fragile, breathless moment โ when the bombs paused and the world seemed to remember us. It gave us hope. We thought maybe, just maybe, we could start to rebuild. But now, we are back in the dark โ hiding, holding on, praying.
Iโm writing this not as someone seeking pity, but as a mother who has no other choice but to speak.
Imagine holding your baby in the middle of the night, not because she cried, but because the world outside roared too loud for either of you to sleep. Imagine whispering bedtime stories not to lull her into dreams, but to keep the fear from settling into her tiny bones.
This is my life.
This is my daughterโs life.
And even now โ especially now โ I believe in softness. I believe in kindness. Because when everything else is taken from you, hope becomes the most valuable thing you have.
Why Iโm Reaching Out Our home has been damaged. Our lives changed. But through it all, my daughter wakes up every morning with a smile. She reaches for me with trust, with love, with faith that I will keep her safe.
Thatโs why I keep going.
Iโve launched a campaign to ask for help โ not because itโs easy, but because silence is no longer an option. I am asking for support not just for me, but for my baby, and for the quiet strength of so many mothers like me who are fighting, every single day, to hold their families together.
How You Can Help: ๐ค Help us restore parts of our home so we can live with dignity ๐ค Support women and mothers in Gaza with access to care and resources ๐ค Keep the light of hope alive for a generation born in the shadows of war
๐ If you can, please support our journey here:
If you canโt give, please consider sharing. Your voice might be the reason someone else hears ours.
From My Heart to Yours Maybe our lives are worlds apart. Maybe youโve never lived through war. But if youโve ever held a child and wished the world could be better for them โ then you understand more than you know.
I donโt want my daughter to grow up thinking the world turned away.
Please, if youโve read this far โ thank you. Thank you for seeing us. Thank you for caring. We are still here. Still hoping. Still holding on to every kind act like itโs a lifeline.
With love and endless gratitude
When I had my toma sona my favorite way to describe her locomotion was 'unfolding' or 'unfurling.' I always viewed macabre/gore art that way. I very rarely ever got hurt as a kid and felt like I was losing a part of myself. I think because it was usually scrapes/scratches and not cuts. I usually would get hurt and be curious about what was exposed or find humor in the initial impact. I could see in the eyes of the people bigger than me that they felt no pain when my body hit the ground. I wondered what it was like to be them, why it was my body that I lived in, and how I would have to change to become like them. Everything my dad told me felt like some weird Quintessence mutation shit.
Lets rise and grind today boys lets grt plugged tf in and get our money up lets stack it till we cant see get that money up ubtil the sky darkens we gonna grind it tf out today until our bones cant take it we grind until we are dust
Lets grind until there will be fire in the sky for millions of miles
Reblogged corruptedashbringer
