The walls are thin tonight.
Every word cuts through them
like they were never there at all.
My mother’s voice, sharp, cracking.
My sister’s, louder, faster,
throwing blame like shattered glass.
And my father trying to hold the storm
with tired hands and a tired voice.
I sit in the middle of it
without speaking,
yet somehow my name
still finds its way into the fire.
It’s strange how people can make you
feel guilty for a war
you never touched.
The house shakes with noise,
doors, footsteps, accusations.
and I wonder if silence
is supposed to hurt this much.
So I turn my music louder,
stare at the ceiling,
count the seconds between shouts
like they’re thunder.
Because sometimes
the only way to survive the voices
is to become quieter than them.
May 12
May 12, 2026 at 9:04 PM UTC
The walls are thin tonight.
Every word cuts through them
like they were never there at all.
My mother’s voice, sharp, cracking.
My sister’s, louder, faster,
throwing blame like shattered glass.
And my father trying to hold the storm
with tired hands and a tired voice.
I sit in the middle of it
without speaking,
yet somehow my name
still finds its way into the fire.
It’s strange how people can make you
feel guilty for a war
you never touched.
The house shakes with noise,
doors, footsteps, accusations.
and I wonder if silence
is supposed to hurt this much.
So I turn my music louder,
stare at the ceiling,
count the seconds between shouts
like they’re thunder.
Because sometimes
the only way to survive the voices
is to become quieter than them.
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