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.
There is a prominent regression in me when I hear screaming, takes me back to childhood helplessness.
Two days of parents day so I'm working from home, ps I'm the teacher not the student.
