Late Nights and Hard Days

Mom’s car door slams like thunder

right after the shout.

I wanted to explain,

but words got stuck

like rain on my window.

Math test failed again,

but I was watching my sister

so she wouldn’t scream at bedtime.

Raindrops blur the streetlight

and my own reflection—

smudged, unsure, half-hidden

by the glass.

I press my face close,

hear the steady drip-drip

of nights that won’t end,

and how sometimes being young

means carrying a silence

too heavy for your shoulders.