This morning, I didn’t sleep well,
but I got up anyway.
I moved through the routine 
breakfast, a dropped spectacles case,
a splash of water,
and my mother tending to the plants.

I took the bus, ran a little,
sat in front as the vehicle bumped along,
trying to steady my thoughts.

At the toilet, someone banged on the door 
too sudden, too loud 
and I walked across the overhead bridge
with a strange feeling in my chest.
Someone looked at me, then looked away
like I wasn’t worth seeing.
It stung a little.

I sat and watched as others went about their day.
A cyclist rang the bell and I lifted my phone,
not to film, not to scroll 
just to stay aware, to protect myself.

Later, someone greeted me,
but it felt hollow.
Another said something untrue about me 
and I had to remind myself
that not everyone speaks from truth or kindness.

I stepped in when someone needed help.
I didn’t know exactly what to do,
but I acted.
Because sometimes, trying
is the best kind of courage.

Through all this,
I stayed gentle with myself.
Today, I showed up.
And even when it was hard,
I didn’t give up.