The morning began with echoes of voices 
a reminder repeated too many times,
a parent’s sharp word calling me troublesome
when I spoke of pain.
I brushed, bathed, folded, prepared,
two hours to step into the day,
yet already it felt heavy.

Whispers of feelings surfaced through questions 
a game of truths and half-truths,
about mentors, about crushes,
about things I do not wish to believe.
One answer stood clear:
“Trainer and guide, nothing more.”
I nodded, yet still carried the weight of wondering.

At the dentist, drills hummed,
gentle reminders to eat only softness,
to drink only warmth.
A strange tenderness in their laughter,
even as the fillings left me sore.

A friend’s words turned the day lighter 
owls of wisdom, sakura patterns,
plans for a café tomorrow,
then settled into an evening call.
Comfort crossed through wires,
arriving as virtual hugs,
reminding me that warmth need not be physical to be felt.

By evening, my parent’s fatigue spilled into blame,
while news of a grandparent’s small win
mingled with her quiet bruise.
Life, as always, in contradictions 
a win, a wound,
a laugh, a scold,
a smile, a silence.

Tonight I feel voiceless,
as if all the words of the day
have already been shouted, questioned, filled, and rinsed away.
But within me, a small quiet 
knowing that even in roughness,
I keep writing,
I keep holding on.