i think about
how mom panicked
when i told her i had cut,
as if she could fix it
if she moved fast enough.

i think about
how dad cried,
eyes breaking like mirrors.
he never cries.

i think about
how the doctor looked at me,
all pity and pleading,
“just let me see,”
like proof would help her understand.

but it’s not about seeing.
it’s about feeling
what no one else
can carry for me.