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It’s not funny anymore.

Don’t laugh.

I could break your teeth, you know

clean in half.

Work next to a dentist,

take commissions on every crack I make.

Who knew violence could be a career path?

Even LinkedIn would be impressed.

And she laughs.

Window-light hitting her face like golden conspiracy,

front row seat to my frustration.

No apology, no flinch

just that effortless smile

like the world has never cut her.

So I raise my voice 

just enough to let the air know I’m alive.

Just enough to let her know

I’m not only the punchline.

I can fix smiles too.

Yeah.

Same fingers that tremble with anger

can sculpt something beautiful,

restore, rebuild, redesign

turn broken into brilliant.