When the voice rises,
sharp and serrated,
I am cast backward—
a child again,
small as a thumbprint.

The air thickens,
pressing against my chest,
stealing my breath
in shallow gulps.

I cannot find words—
they scatter like frightened birds,
trapped in the cage of my throat.
Every syllable burns,
a potential betrayal.

The slap is phantom,
but real enough to sting.
Misunderstanding hangs,
a shadow over my skin,
waiting to pounce.

My limbs fold inward—
knees to chest,
arms to ribs.
The walls creep closer,
a conspiratorial hush,
a sudden need to vanish.

I long to run,
to dissolve into the cracks,
to silence the echoes
that still call me weak,
that still call me wrong.