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.