August 30 – Anonymous Edition

This morning began with voices.

A live stream spoke of respect and positivity,

while the house reminded me of silence.

A comment on hair,

a hand on my back,

a seat chosen wrong.

Even the bus became a mirror

of what others could not accept.

At the hospital,

I carried my longing,

and it was called strange.

I carried my voice,

and it was called nagging.

But my father’s words

cut through the noise:

Keep the good. Ignore the nonsense. Relax.

He told me to look after myself,

and I heard:

“Lay the weight down.”

Later,

a box cut my thigh,

a keychain broke my nail,

blood reminded me how sharp love can be.

I shouted.

She threatened.

Still—on the bus,

a stranger let me board first.

A crack of kindness in the storm.

Between scolding and silence,

I hold onto the ones who see me.

The friend who says, “I will protect you.”

The mentor who never texts,

but keeps my name card like a small truth.

Not laughter, not teasing—

but quiet attention.

Depth, not surface.

Respect, not dismissal.

Even with bleeding hands, I write this:

I am not ignored.

I am not erased.

I am seen—

in ways that stay when the noise is gone. 🌙✨