I only wanted silence
after the sting of saline drops
and a soft tissue in my hand.
But voices rose,
not to lift me,
but to crush me under words like “lazy.”
I held my bowl,
not for sweetness,
but for restraint.
I didn’t throw it.
I could’ve.
But I didn’t.
She left.
I stayed.
And even in her anger,
she asked if I needed medicine.
The world is loud.
I am learning
to breathe before the echo.
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